Life Through Sea Green Eyes
by grand admiral chelli
Summary: The story of Finnick Odair's life, starting at the 65th Hunger Games and working its way up to and through the Hunger Games trilogy. Now complete!
1. Part 1: Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

Part One: Fish Out of Water

**Chapter One**

I may have been born a creature of the land, but my heart belongs to the sea. In that first, shocking instant, when my head breaks the surface of the cool water and my entire body is suddenly submersed in this weightless world, I feel like I could live here, among the fish and eels and coral, and just leave my real life behind. And for a few minutes I can, but then my lungs betray me and force me back to that place of harsh sunlight, and back-breaking labour, and the Hunger Games.

My father tells my sister Natare and I every night, as we lay down on the scrubbed wooden deck of our little fishing ship staring at the stars, that we're lucky to have been born in District 4. Our district is in charge of everything to do with the sea, which basically means we're all fishermen. "You think knotting lines and hauling nets is hard work?" father says. "Imagine mining for coal hundreds of feet underground, or dragging a plow across a twenty mile-long field in the mid-day heat. What we have, my children, is paradise, or as near as someone from the districts can get."

And for the most part, he's right. School is technically compulsory, but attendance is only enforced when kids, like Natare and I, are on land. When we're out on father's fishing boat – which is most of the time – he is our teacher, the sea our classroom. Natare and I dangle our feet off the edges of the dinghy, making elaborately knotted rope nets with our dextrous fingers, while father steers us to our destination. When we reach the fishing grounds it is hard work – casting the nets and baiting the lures – but once all the prep is done, we can swim and play until the sun sinks into the water and the moon becomes our lantern in the sky.

But today my little family and I aren't on our fishing boat, trawling the waters for tonight's dinner and, ultimately, a decent-sized haul to sell at the market, so we can keep our boat in good repair and continue our relatively carefree lifestyle. We're ashore, in the small, thatched-roof cottage my mother so painstakingly decorated before she died of a plague that cut a swath through our section of the district two years ago.

Natare is standing in front of the vanity – a simple wooden table attached to a large, relatively flat shell that has been polished until you can see yourself in its shiny surface. Father is helping her twine her long bronze hair into dozens of braids, which is our traditional way of doing a girl's hair for formal events. This is something that mother used to help Natare with, and we can all feel her absence more keenly on a day like today.

"Brush your hair," father snaps at me. "The Capitol is watching us on Reaping Day. We have an image to maintain, especially you."

Especially me. Because Natare is only nine years old, whereas I'm fourteen. And that means that when Pompey Birch, the official District 4 spokesman for the yearly Hunger Games, sticks his hand in that big plastic ball and pulls out a slip of paper, my name could be on it. Natare is safe a few years more, but I'm at the mercy of fate.

"Girls like the tousled look," I say, running my fingers through my thick hair. Girls like a lot of things about me: my hair, my face, my body, my eyes. Oh, definitely the eyes. Whenever I actually go to class, I'm surrounded by flocks of girls whispering about my "dreamy" sea-green eyes, as if I can't hear them when they're working themselves into a near frenzy.

"You aren't trying to impress the girls," father reminds me. "If you're chosen, it's the Capitol you'll have to impress."

I come up behind Natare, whose eyes are squinted close as she manipulates her hair, and stare at my reflection in the polished shell mirror. Somehow, I don't think the people in Capitol will mind my untidy bronze locks. Father forgets – or perhaps he doesn't notice – that it isn't only the girls who are entranced by my looks. Ever since I can remember, women of all ages have been drawn to me like sharks to blood. I don't encourage them, they just can't seem to help themselves. And the state of my hair has never mattered one bit to them.

"Finnick doesn't need to brush his hair to impress those snobs in Capitol," Natare opines, gazing up at me with sea-green eyes that are identical to mine. "If his stunning good looks don't have them falling over themselves, his charming wit is sure to do the trick."

"Ha ha," I say, nudging my little sister with my hip. She sticks her tongue out at me, and then resumes her braiding. Not that Natare is wrong – people have a convenient tendency to eat up my words as if they're the most brilliant thing that they have ever heard. I like to think that it's because I'm a scintillating conversationalist, but Natare is always quick to point out that people are just too busy being awestruck by my physical appearance to really take in a word that I say. And I would be lying if I said I didn't take advantage of it now and again, but on the whole my family keeps me grounded.

We dress in silence. Natare retreats to the other room of our two-room cottage, and emerges in a simple turquoise frock that compliments her eyes. Father and I are dressed almost identically, because I'm wearing his old clothes. I'm remarkably tall for my age, and the lean muscles I've built up on the fishing boat almost manage to fill out the white shirt and dark green pants.

As he has every year since I hit the age that I would be eligible to be a tribute in the Hunger Games, father puts his hands on my shoulders and looks me straight in the eyes. "Finnick," he says, deathly serious. "This year might be your year."

"I know," I reply. This little ritual of ours is more to calm down father than me, because he worries more about me than I do. Natare once commented that I act like a leaf in a stream, aware of my surroundings but content to float wherever the water takes me. She isn't wrong, but I would have to be either stupid or crazy not to fear the Hunger Games at least a little bit.

"And what do you do if you're chosen?" father presses.

"I do whatever I have to," I say. "Nothing is more important than coming home."

"How do you do that?"

"I use what I know. Ropes, knots, tridents, spears – whatever I have, whatever I can make."

"And the children, the other tributes," father says, and I can see the naked fear in his eyes now. "What are they?"

"They're sharks," I say.

"What do we do with sharks?"

"We kill them."

Father releases me, apparently satisfied with my response. I'm not particularly vicious, as father well knows, and so he tries to mentally prepare me for the possibility that I might be forced into a gladiatorial death match with twenty-three other children. Because I've never had another person's life in my hands before, I have no way to gauge how effective his methods are.

We make our way to the main square, a huge cobblestone expanse set against the backdrop of the massive Justice Hall. Because District 4 is built along the coastline, the docks are full with the ships of fishermen who have brought their families by sea to attend the Reaping Day ceremony. Our village is only half an hour's walk from the main square, so we leave our boat tethered at the local pier and go on foot.

I am immediately ushered away from my father, and Natare joins him when she is confirmed to be under the Reaping age. They disappear into the throng of people quickly filling up the square, but not before I spot Natare waving at me. I wave back, but one of the white-clad Peacekeepers grabs my shoulder and I don't see if Natare notices me.

"Name?"

"Finnick Odair," I say, glancing down at the clipboard the armoured man carries. His pen floats down the list, and then checks off my name under the section labelled "Fourteen".

"Follow the signs," the Peacekeeper grunts, already on to the next kid in line – a trembling twelve-year old with tears streaming down her face. I hang back, and when the girl is waved on by the Peacekeeper, I beckon to her. She hesitates, glances at the cordoned off area with the "Twelve" sign, then shuffles over to me.

"What's your name?" I ask her.

I'm thankful for my good looks right now, because something about a handsome face makes people trust you. The little girl's tears slow, and then disappear, as she gapes up at me. Then she grins toothily and says, "Mara Kell."

"Pleased to meet you, Mara Kell," I say, offering her my hand. She grasps it in both of hers and gives it a big shake. "Don't worry," I tell her. "The Reaping isn't as scary as it seems." It is, of course, but she doesn't need to know that.

"But what if I get picked?" Mara asks, biting her bottom lip. I notice then that her hair is nearly the same bronze as mine, and I think that she could be my sister.

"Don't be silly," I smile. "Your name is one slip in thousands. What are the odds?"

"Is that why you aren't scared? Because you know you aren't going to get picked?"

"Maybe I am scared, but I'm just better at hiding it," I suggest, and her eyes go wide. I press my finger against my lips. "Sometimes, if we hide our feelings from other people, then we trick ourselves into believing it too."

A Peacekeeper spots us and marches over, looking annoyed. I quickly bend down and give Mara a hug. "Good luck," I whisper. "Put on a brave face and nothing can hurt you." Mara nods gravely, and then flits off toward her section just before the Peacekeeper gets to me.

"Name?" he barks.

"I'm going," I say, unable to keep the sharp edge out of my voice. I dance around the scowling man and hurry over to my designated area before he can write me up. In other districts, I've heard that Peacekeepers keep discipline by threatening flogging and capital punishment, but here it's much simpler. You mess up, you get written up. If your name shows up too many times on the record, your family loses their fishing license. And since there isn't much to do in District 4 besides fish, poverty and starvation quickly follow.

I try to assimilate myself among the other fourteen year olds without attracting any notice, but I realize that it's a fool's hope. Those same good looks that let me get away with pretty much anything also mean that I'm always at the center of attention. My school friends instantly surround me, chattering about how nervous they are, how much they hope one of the Careers – kids specifically trained to compete in the Games – will volunteer this year so they don't have to go to their deaths. I smile, and joke, and touch hands, and make vague but reassuring remarks, but I'm just going through the motions. Not that they notice.

Then the big brass gong – a massive thing engraved with two dolphins circling each other endlessly – is sounded, and the crowd falls silent. This means that the video crews are firing up their cameras, and that the ceremony is about to start. Sure enough, Pompey Birch saunters onto the stage a few seconds later, purple hair gleaming in the sunlight. He's new this year. Our last director ate bad shellfish at a party in Capitol only a few weeks back, and they had to rush to find a replacement in time.

"Welcome to the 65th Annual Hunger Games!" Pompey bellowed, apparently having decided to forgo a microphone. "May the odds be ever in your favour!"

Some cheers from the audience, maybe a third of the people gathered. District 4 may not seem like much, but we are actually one of the better off districts, and we have our fair share of people who think the Hunger Games are exciting sport, not the annual slaughter of twenty-three innocent children. That also explains why a Career pops up every couple of years – some delusional parent dreaming of fame and glory for their kid, regardless of the cost.

But there don't seem to be any Careers this year. They usually make their way to the side of the stage before the ceremony even begins so they can leap dramatically up on stage to volunteer. I can't spot any eager teenagers lurking in the wings.

"The Hunger Games are one of Panem's most sacred traditions," Pompey declares, and begins to wax poetic about the history of our nation. How the districts revolted, the razing of District 13, the institution of the Games to remind us every year that we live at the mercy of the Capitol. I tune it out. I've heard it a hundred times before. But I don't tune out the next part.

"Before we select the tributes, let's give a warm welcome to this year's mentors!" Pompey shouts, making come-hither motions with his arms. Two people climb up on stage, one helping the other. I see why a second later – one of the mentors is Mags, a lady in her seventies who's been a permanent fixture at the games since I can remember. Usually it's supposed to be a guy and a girl mentoring, but I see that the other mentor is a woman as well – Andromache, a sour-faced brunette in her thirties.

"What happened to Mikael?" I whisper to one of my friends. Mikael is our only living male victor – for some reason, District 4 boys just don't do very well in the arena, Career or not. Which bodes incredibly well for me.

My friend shakes his head, but a blonde girl pipes up, "I heard that he contracted some nasty disease in Capitol last year, and he's being kept there for observation."

"I heard he was assassinated!" another kid contributes.

So Mikael's disappeared off the face of the earth. I don't really care, to be honest, but it does mean that if I get chosen I'll be paired with a female mentor. Not that this is a bad thing necessarily, but I like to know my options. I eye Mags and Andromache – Andromache is staring haughtily off into space, while Mags is hunched over beside her, knotting and unknotting a short length of thin rope. Neither is particularly inspirational to me, and apparently not to Pompey either, because he grimaces and then quickly moves on to the main event.

"And now, time to select the tributes!" Pompey walks over to the right side of the stage, where a big plastic ball holds thousands of paper slips. He plunges a hand inside and draws out a slip. "From the girls, this year's honour goes to Miss Calliope Rhodes!"

A prissy-looking blonde from the eighteen year old section gives a loud wail, and is instantly enveloped by a group of sobbing girls who must have been her friends. The Peacekeepers extract her with some difficulty and shove her up onto the stage, where she shakes from head to toe while fat tears trace down her cheeks. Not so prissy anymore, I think, but I find it hard to feel bad for her. Better a girl at least grown to womanhood than a helpless kid like Nara. At least Calliope will stand a fighting chance, size-wise.

Pompey is calling for our attention again. He's walked over to the plastic ball at the other end of the stage, and pulls out a slip. I hold my breath and pray.

"Finnick Odair," Pompey shouts in his unnaturally cheery voice.


	2. Part 1: Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Two**

The emotional reaction of Calliope's friends when her name was called had not been out of the ordinary, but it was definitely one of the more heart-wrenching ones that I've seen in my fourteen years. The reaction when Pompey calls out my name is unlike anything I ever expected.

All the girls in my year start to bawl their eyes out. The guys stand in shocked silence for a second, and then start to shout angrily at Pompey, who looks completely bewildered by the extreme reaction.

I freeze for a few seconds, and then snap out of it. Maybe it's because I mentally prepare myself for this eventuality every year, or maybe because somewhere in the back of my mind I think I have a real shot at winning this, but what I feel right now is less terror, and more disappointment. It's like when you play a card game and you bet everything you have, and then your opponent reveals a royal flush.

When I start walking toward the stage and the crowd realizes who I am, pretty much every female in the square joins in the sob-fest. I think how absurd it is for these people I've never met to be crying over me, but of course I get why. It all comes down to looks – right now they're probably thinking what a shame it is that such a handsome young boy's life is being snuffed out before it's even begun. Then the Peacekeepers are at my side, nudging me toward the stage.

"Relax," I tell them, plastering my best smile on my face. "I'm not going to run." My smile is my weapon of choice, because it disarms people so effectively, and they back off, although I can feel them behind me as I navigate through the weeping masses toward the stage. One face catches my eye, and I see Mara near the front of the crowd. She is staring at me, but there are no tears in her eyes – putting on a brave face like I taught her. For some reason, this gives me the courage to hop up on stage like I had been preparing all my life for this moment.

Pompey, who keeps glancing at the sniffling Calliope uneasily, seems relieved by my attitude. The attitude of a victor, he thinks, although I know the truth. I just want to get through this in one piece, and I'll do and act however I have to in order to achieve my goal. He swaggers over and claps me on the shoulder. "Looks like we have a fighter this year, ladies and gentlemen!"

Every woman in the square continues to wail, although some pointed looks from the Peacekeepers stationed around the perimeter soon have them back in line. When his audience is more or less paying attention to him again, Pompey raises his hands in the air. "Let's have a big cheer for this year's District 4 tributes!"

As half-hearted applause breaks out – although a few callous individuals whoop loudly – I scan the crowd for my father and sister. The stage is raised, and for a moment I feel like I am back on the fishing boat, staring out at the waves. But now the waves are people, and suddenly the enormity of the situation hits me.

I feel my throat close up, but then I see my father's grave face way at the back of the square, and I shove my fear to the back of my mind. Every year my father asks me what I will do if I'm chosen, and my answer is always the same: whatever I have to. Because nothing is more important than coming home.

After the ceremony, Calliope and I are herded into the Justice building. I've never been here before, but I've talked to people who have. They weren't exaggerating. Two-story marble columns, velvet-covered staircases, tapestries that cover entire walls... incredible. Too bad I only get to see the place now, when I may only have a few weeks left to appreciate it.

They lead Calliope through an ornately carved wooden door, and then direct me to the next room over. I haven't had a chance to talk to her since we were both chosen. Although to be honest, considering I may have to kill her, I'm not sure I want to get to know her.

Inside the room, there's a table and chairs set up looking out a huge curtained window. The Peacekeepers leave me to my own devices, so I go and look through the glass. It is clearly designed to give a view of the main square directly below, but of more interest to me is the sparkling sea on the horizon. I wonder if I'll ever see it again, and then dismiss the thought. Of course I will. I'm coming home, whatever it takes. I repeat the mantra mentally until the door swings open again.

Natare and father enter the room, and the door is closed behind them. Nice of the Capitol to give us this moment together, although I know from watching past Hunger Games that we're being televised right now through hidden cameras.

Father stands stoically beside the door while Natare bursts into tears and runs forward, throwing herself into my arms. "It's okay," I tell her, patting her head soothingly. "What does father always say? Nothing is more important than coming home." I grab her hands and kneel down in front of her. "Natare, I'm coming home. I promise."

She cries because she's a little girl and she loves me. But she's not stupid. "You don't know that," Natare wails, burrowing her head into my shoulder. "You can't know that."

I stand up straight and force a grin. "Of course I can. You said it yourself – I'm irresistible. I'll just flash my smile at the cameras, and the lovely ladies of Capitol will be falling over themselves to lend a helping hand." I strike a ridiculous pose, and Natare finally begins to calm down.

Father comes up to me now, speaking in a low voice so my sister can't hear what we say. "How are you?" he murmurs, concern lacing his words.

I'm still smiling, because if I stop I'm afraid I might lose it entirely. "Terrified. Beyond belief. Scared to death of dying, which is kind of poetic if you think about it. But at the same time I'm completely calm. Does that make sense?"

Then father claps me on my shoulder, evoking memories of Pompey Birch. But his hand is warm and comforting, whereas Pompey's was light and trembling, as if he were about to explode from excitement. "You have the ability to survive this," he tells me. "I won't try to tell you how to pull this off, but I have faith in you that you will find a way. Just remember your training."

"The other children are sharks," I say, but now that I'm actually faced with the reality of killing them, I'm not sure I can pretend they're just fish. But father doesn't need to know that. "I'm fine now," I assure him, speaking loud enough for Natare to hear. I add in a confident, lop-sided smirk to support my statement. Father and Natare are not convinced, but I think that the people in Capitol watching right now just might have fallen for it.

When father and Natare hug me goodbye and leave, I wait impatiently for the next visitor. Tributes are allowed one hour of farewells before they're shipped off to the Capitol for the Games. I figure that a few of my classmates will probably stop in to wish me luck, or maybe one of the numerous housewives that fawn over me as I wander through town after school. But finally the hour elapses and still no one has come through the door. I'm kind of disappointed, to be honest.

Pompey pokes his head into the room, looking distressed, which is a good look for him. It humanizes him, which I personally think a lot of the Capitol citizens could use. "You must be wondering why no one visited you," he says in a raspy voice, like he's been doing a lot of talking – or possibly shouting – recently.

"I saw my family," I say, shrugging. "Whatever." I'm finding that the nonchalant, devil-may-care attitude is working pretty well for me, so I stick with it. It's not that far from my actual personality, so I slip into the bored-teen act without too much difficulty.

Pompey doesn't seem to hear a word I say. "There were so many, I wasn't sure," he mutters. "They all claim to know you personally – how am I supposed to sort out who tells the truth?"

I understand what's been upsetting him so much without too big a leap of the imagination. "I'm guessing there were a few girls who wanted to see me?"

Pompey's hands fly up in the air in agitation. "Hundreds! Pouring into the Justice building! No sense of personal space! I tried to hear them out, but there were so many I had to have the Peacekeepers escort them out! All those tears..." His head hangs down miserably, as if he's failed me on some way.

And somehow I find myself reassuring him. Hard to be mad at someone who reminds you of a lost little kid. "I prefer it this way," I say, then remember the cameras are probably still on me. "I'd rather not let the girls see me cry." I put on a look of determination, as if I'm valiantly holding back tears. Natare once told me that I'm a great actor, able to convey even the subtlest emotions if I really try – I'm counting on that now. It might keep me alive.

Pompey cheers up, and claps his hands excitedly. "Then it's time to be on our way to Capitol! The Hunger Games wait on no man!" He scurries over to the doorway, beckoning eagerly for me to follow him. Restraining the urge to roll my eyes, I put on another fake smile and follow obediently after him.


	3. Part 1: Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Three**

The train ride is beyond anything I had expected. I lean out the window of my spacious cabin, letting the wind blow my hair back. I imagine I'm at sea, skipping across the waves, and think how much easier our lives would be if our little boats could go as fast as this train.

Someone knocks at my door and Pompey calls, "It's time to meet your team, Finnick!"

I've already met my team, sort of. Mags and Andromache accompanied Calliope and I on our short tour of the train, although they didn't say a word the entire time. Considering they make this trip every year, it probably isn't very exciting for them. But I make sure to ask questions, laugh at Pompey's jokes, and be as charming a companion as possible, because it's all practice for the main event. If I can figure out how to win Pompey's heart, I'm pretty sure I can do the same to the people of Capitol.

Still wearing father's hand-me-downs, I saunter out into the main cabin and take in the scene. Mags, Andromache, and Calliope are seated in armchairs in a circle, with a low coffee table in the middle. Scenery tumbles past in the window behind Andromache. Two chairs are empty, and Pompey makes waving motions with his arms. I flash him a smile and sit down next to Mags, while Pompey claps his hands delightedly and plops down beside me.

"I'm really excited for our chances this year!" Pompey gushes. I notice that when he talks, he kind of bounces up and down like a little kid. I've heard that some of the victors hate their directors, but I can't quite muster up that sort of negative emotion for Pompey. He looks like he doesn't have a malicious bone in his body.

"Usually we would have a male victor mentor the male tribute, and vice versa for the girls," Pompey says, "but since that isn't the case, I'm not really sure how to proceed."

Andromache gives me a long once-over, and I suppress a shudder. Something about that woman unnerves me, so I say quickly, "I'll take Mags." Mags looks up from her knitting – I guess she got tired of tying knots in rope – and gives me a gap-toothed smile. I don't think I've ever heard her actually say anything, but I'd rather her than creepy Andromache.

"That sounds just fine," Pompey chirps, clapping his hands again. Then he glances down at the watch on his wrist. "Oh my, I have so many things to do before we reach the Capitol! We'll be there in a few hours, so why don't you all get acquainted until then?" He nods fervently for at least ten seconds, then beams at us and scurries from the compartment.

When no one says anything – I think Calliope is still stifling tears from earlier – I sigh and start the ball rolling. "This train is amazing. I feel like I'm sailing, but super quickly. Even the motion of the train reminds of me of the sea – rocking side to side, but not enough to unbalance you. I wonder if the Capitol designed these trains from watching our fishing boats sail across the waves."

My pointless rambling succeeds in relaxing Calliope, whose eyes are still red but at least she isn't making little sniffling noises every few seconds. Andromache watches me with keen eyes, and Mags keeps knitting like she hasn't heard a thing I've said.

"You talk like that all the time?" Andromache suddenly barks at me. She taps her finger against her lips. "With all the smiling and the eye contact?"

I stare straight at her. "I know how good looking I am," I tell her point-blank. "And if you're trying to ask me whether or not I intend to use every advantage I have to win, then yes, I am."

Andromache returns my gaze for a long moment, and then laughs loudly. "I'd think you were a Career, if I didn't know better. You just might have a fighting chance after all, pretty boy." I'm not sure I like nickname, but I smile and nod all the same. She grins, as if I've passed some sort of test that I wasn't even aware I was taking.

Eventually my companions start to open up, although it takes the entire train ride for me to get a proper sense of who each one is. I compile a mental inventory in my mind, locking away each piece of information I get in case I need to refer to it later. As if my looks weren't enough of a gift, I also have a very, very good memory. Natare complains sometimes that it isn't fair, but she's already turning into quite the looker, and she soaks up facts like a sponge, so I don't think she's in a position to argue.

We're due in Capitol within the hour, so I retire to my cabin for the interim to compose myself. Everything suddenly goes dark outside, and I realise we've entered the mountain tunnel that will lead us into the Capitol. I hear that the ride in from District 12 takes days, but District 4 is really close to the Capitol so it's only a few hours. I shut the curtains and lie back on my bed, thinking about my companions. Considering that my understanding of them might save my life, I take the exercise seriously.

Calliope is eighteen, pretty, and somewhat stuck-up, the daughter of a carpenter and therefore belonging to the upper strata of society. She spends most of her time either in school, or lounging on the beach with her friends. Her skin is sun-kissed, like pretty much everyone in District 4, and she has never hurt a living creature in her life. She is absolutely terrified by the idea of going into the arena, and admitted to us that she has no idea how she's going to survive. What Calliope doesn't mention is that because she helps her father out in the carpentry, she's probably handy with a saw. I'll have to keep an eye on her.

Andromache won the games eighteen years ago as a Career, which explains her harsh demeanour. She has the requisite blood-thirsty streak that made her volunteer to participate in the Games, and I can tell that she hates Calliope already because the girl is constantly on the verge of tears. When I asked her how she won, she smiled maliciously and said, "My year was the one where they stuck us in a desert and gave us spiked maces." I could figure out the rest, so I didn't ask for clarification.

Mags is still more or less a mystery to me, because she barely talks and, when she does, it's in this low, incomprehensible mumble that Andromache has to translate for us. Weirdly enough, this comforts me, because it means that if I spend enough time with the old lady I'll be able to understand her too. Considering she's my mentor, this is probably a good thing. Mags won fifty-four years ago, and when I ask her how she managed it, she pulls a crumpled photo out of her dress. It depicts a stunningly beautiful young woman that, if I squint really hard, just might be Mags as a girl.

Lying on my bed, I'm sure now that I made the right choice of mentors. If Mags really did win through looks, as she seems to be implying, then she might just be the perfect mentor for me, because I'm planning on winning the same way.

The train slides smoothly to a stop, and then Pompey is banging away at my door again. "Finnick! Time to get going! The Games await!" Because I'm trying to keep on his good side, I call out a friendly response, then force myself off the comfy bed. Once I'm out of my room, Pompey grabs my arm and pulls me toward the exit, jabbering away about parades and interviews and all manner of Games-related things.

We step out into the sunshine, and I get my first proper look at the Capitol. Towering, candy-coloured buildings, broad avenues filled with motorcars, makeup-plastered people in crazy getups strolling along in a leisurely fashion.

"What do you think?" Pompey asks me happily.

"Amazing," I say, because it's what he wants to hear. Some tributes – usually the ones from the poorer districts – act all belligerent and hostile to the Capitol, which I think is just stupid. You don't bite the hand that feeds you, even if the hand is planning on throwing you to your untimely death. Besides, if I survive this mess, I'll be coming back to this glittering fairyland every year. Best to make a good first impression.

Calliope comes up behind me – she's sobbing again – and then Mags and Andromache round out our party. Pompey leads us to the Training Center, a huge silver spire that must be where we'll be staying until the Games commence. Inside, we are immediately whisked onto an elevator. Pompey hits the 4 button, and within seconds we spill out into a blue-themed sitting room dominated by a large wooden table.

Pompey directs us to sit at the table. Avoxes – speechless slaves clad in white – soon pile the table high with tureens of soup, platters of meat, and baskets of bread. I briefly consider trying one of the red meat dishes – I've only had beef once in my life – but I end up sticking with fish. It reminds me of home, and it helps put me at ease. I lead the conversation, chatting amiably about whatever pops into my head, and my companions embrace the light-hearted atmosphere willingly enough. Well, except for Calliope, but I've pretty much come to the conclusion that she's never going to stop crying.

After the meal, Pompey sends us to bed early. "Big day tomorrow!" he says excitedly. "You'll meet your prep team, and then it's the opening ceremonies! Get your beauty sleep, because you'll need it! Ha ha!" Calliope breaks down again, and Pompey quickly disappears into his own room after that. I don't think he's had to deal with a lot of crying girls in his time – what would the people in Capitol have to cry about, anyway?

I head for my own room, but just as I'm about to shut the door I realize that Mags has followed me. I hold it open, and she toddles past me into the room. When the shut the door and turn around, she's planted herself on the green loveseat beside the window, knitting away.

"Did you want to talk to me about something?" I ask her.

She mumbles something. I think I make out the name "Liron", but I'm not sure so I sit down on my bed and wait for her to explain. When she doesn't, I go into the bathroom to brush my teeth and change into pyjamas. I found them earlier in one of the drawers – emerald boxer shorts with little golden cornucopias on them. Cute.

When I come back out and Mags stares at me, I realize that I'm shirtless. Most women don't mind me shirtless – in fact, they seem to find ways to encourage it – but Mags is an old woman and I wonder if it's disrespectful for me to be around her like this. I pull open one of the drawers stacked to the brim with clothes and start to pull out a shirt.

"Don't," Mags rasps suddenly. I pause and look at her. She mumbles something about shirts, and she's getting pretty worked up about it, so I put the shirt back in the drawer and shut it. This calms her down, and she gives me a gap-toothed smile. I wonder if she's trying to tell me something?

Not sure what she wants from me, and not ready to go to sleep with her there, I lay back on my bed and pillow my head behind my arms. At first the clacking of her knitting needles is annoying, but soon it starts to lull me to sleep. The clacking turns into the splashing of oars in the water, and I drift away.


	4. Part 1: Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Four**

I wake up to the sound of crunching the next morning. Peering blurrily around the cabin, I see that Mags is still sitting on the loveseat, but instead of knitting she's staring out the window eating sugar cubes, of all things. She has a little blue bowl piled high with them, and she's popping them like pills. I wonder if she's been here all night, but she's in a different dress, so I'm guessing she went back to her own room at some point.

When Mags sees I'm awake, she wobbles over to me and crouches down, extending the bowl. I prop myself up on an elbow and snag a sugar cube. Sugar being a rare commodity in District 4, it's almost too sweet for me, but she's nodding, so I swallow it down and take another. This one goes down easier, and by the third I've decided that I've found my new vice.

She mumbles about sugar for a few minutes, and I gradually begin to make out some of the words. It's not that she slurs the words, she just says them so quietly, and so quickly, that it comes out as a steady hum. When I focus and really listen hard, I can more or less understand her.

"So what delightful new horrors await me today?" I ask her, cutting her sugar ramblings short. Mags cackles and pops another sugar cube. I grab a handful and crunch on them as she talks.

"The opening ceremonies begin at dusk," she says, one of her hands going up to fiddle with the ends of her wavy white hair. "I'm sure you've seen it on TV – chariots with tributes going round and round the City Circle, people cheering. Then speeches by President Snow and Seneca Crane, the Head Gamemaker." Her voice goes even quieter, which makes it impossible to make out the words – I think she's saying something about the opening ceremonies being a waste of time, but it's hard to tell.

"Why did you stay here last night?" I ask her out the blue.

Mags gives me a long, hard look. Then she says, "I think you can win. I want you to win."

"Who's Liron?"

She laughs faintly. "You don't miss a thing. Liron is my grandson. Was my grandson. He was wiped out in the plague. Same for his parents."

"I remind you of him," I say. It isn't a question. Mags nods, and says nothing. Well, I think, this certainly explains a lot. It also makes me trust her, because if I remind her of her grandson, then she has a vested interest in keeping me alive. Which suits me just fine.

"I'm going to take a shower," I tell her. I drop the remainder of my sugar cubes back into her bowl. "Thank you for the sugar cubes," I add. "They're delicious." I hear her give a muffled sob as I shut the bathroom door. Did she used to eat sugar cubes with her grandson?

The shower has dozens of buttons, so I pick the biggest one and press it. Warm water sprinkles down from the ceiling like rain, and I let my cares float with the water down the drain.

When I re-emerge wrapped in a towel, Mags is gone and a green bathrobe is waiting on the bed. I ignore it and go for the drawers, but they're empty. Getting the hint, I pull on the bathrobe, discard the towel, and head out to the main room.

Pompey's waiting for me, a big grin on his face. "Opening ceremonies tonight!" he half-shouts, beside himself with anticipation. "Ready to meet your prep team?" He winks at me. "Not that you'll much need it, eh?"

Four people stride into the room – or, rather, one man strides in, his bright green hair nearly blinding me, and three young women follow him. They all have shoulder-length blue hair and silver tattoos across their cheeks. I realize quickly that they must be identical triplets. That, or they had a little too much fun with plastic surgery.

"I am Germanicus," the green-haired guy announces, as if he's enriching my life just by being in the same room. He sees me staring at the girls, so he adds, "These are my assistants."

"Livia," the first one introduces, curtseying.

"Lorenna," says the second.

"Laria," says the third.

Since they're going to be working with me closely, I bestow one of my most charming smiles on them. They give a loud "awww" and come to swarm around me, stroking their hands through my hair, touching my arms, fingering my clothes. I'm not sure whether they're attracted to me, or they just see me as a life-sized dress up doll.

"This is your stylist," Pompey says unnecessarily. "Germanicus is considered a genius among fashion circles. He's been styling District 4 tributes for decades."

I remember now, seeing him on TV when Capitol forces us to watch the Games broadcast each year. Being a guy, I never really cared about the fashion part of the Games, so I didn't make the connection until now. And then I realize the implications.

Germanicus is hardcore old-fashioned. By this I mean that he adheres to the old style of opening ceremonies costumes, which is to make your tributes look as much like their district's speciality as possible. Ever since I can remember, he has dressed his tributes up as all manner of sea creatures – fish, seahorses, even eels one time – and every year they look ridiculous.

I look around for Mags, hoping she'll have some words of wisdom for me, but she's disappeared somewhere. And Pompey leaves a minute later, claiming some sort of schedule emergency, leaving me at the mercy of Germanicus. He rips off my robe before I can protest, and begins to take mental notes aloud.

"Good body," he says, circling me like a piranha. "Excellent cheekbones... and those eyes!" He peers into my sea green eyes like they're the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. "You've just given me my color palette, my child!"

I hate it that he calls me "my child". It sounds infantile and degrading, but it's not like I can argue. If I annoy him, he might dress me up in an even more absurd outfit than usual, although I'm not even sure that's possible.

"Beauty Base Zero," he tells the triplets, which is apparently some kind of code. He swishes off out the door, and immediately they descend on me, rubbing various ointments into my skin and chattering away to each other.

I think about talking to them, charming them onto my side, but I figure out pretty soon that I already have them in the palm of my hand. They live for beautiful things, and I'm about the most beautiful thing they've ever seen. If I asked one of them to marry me right here and now, I'd bet my fishing boat that they'd say yes.

Germanicus returns a few hours later in early afternoon, and joins me for lunch. As we eat, he raves about the costume he's prepared for me. I'm not really listening – like I said, fashion bores me – but I hear him mention scales more than once, so I'm probably going to be a fish of some sort.

I get a few hours off in the afternoon, so I go back to my room and lie down, thinking about nothing in particular. It surprises me that I'm not more freaked out by my impending death, but I don't dissect my feelings too much. If I do, I might actually get worked up about it, and then I wouldn't be able to sleep. And that's hardly going to help me in the long run.

Someone knocks on the door, and they slide a coil of rope under the door. It has a little tag on that says, "I thought you might use this to pass the time," and I realize it's from Mags. I decide that I'm really starting to like the sweet old lady. So I spend the afternoon making complex knots with the rope to keep my mind off my situation.

Germanicus calls me out around four o'clock. He has me strip down again, then helps me into a shiny gold bodysuit that's covered with thousands of tiny, glittering scales. It has a deep V neckline that shows off my chest. I'm starting to think that this outfit might actually work in my favour when he plops a hat on my head.

"Take a look," he says generously, turning me toward a full-length mirror that the triplets rolled in when they arrived. They ooh and ahh at how wonderful I look, but I can't tear my eyes away from the hat. It's huge, and horrible, and looks like a giant gold fish head, complete with bulbous eyes and gaping mouth.

"It's... great," I say, because what else am I supposed to do? Germanicus gives a theatrical bow, then sweeps out of the room with his triplet entourage. Pompey and Mags come in once they leave, and when they spot my hat, neither of them is quite able to keep a straight face.

"He's a genius, all right," I quip, and Pompey laughs loudly.


	5. Part 1: Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Five**

"Time to go," Pompey says, and they lead me into the elevator and down into the bowels of the Training Center. We emerge in a large, noisy room that's full of horse-drawn chariots and tributes. Pompey leaves me in Mags' hands and heads off to locate Calliope and Andromache.

Mags leans toward me conspiratorially. "Keep the hat on for now, but as soon as that chariot starts rolling, get rid of it," she whispers.

"I didn't know I was allowed to do that," I reply, although I had of course been thinking the exact same thing.

Mags winks, and I like her even more.

She looks at a big clock on the wall, and says, "You have a few minutes before the ceremonies start. Go meet some of your fellow tributes." She grips my arm and looks into my eyes. "You're a Career."

I'm not a Career, which she knows very well. But then I get what she's saying. I'm tall, I'm built, and I could very easily pass for a Career. Since the Careers inevitably team up, and I have nothing to lose by pretending to be one of them, I decide to go along with the plan. "Capitol?" I ask, hoping she'll get the underlying question.

"They like underdogs," Mags says, "but Careers are always nearest and dearest to their hearts." I nod. I can fake being a Career – actually, since I've been using knives, spears, and tridents all my life, I may even be considered one already.

Mags wanders off to the District 4 chariot, which is festooned with coral and big plastic starfish. I'm tempted to follow her, but meeting the other tributes is more important. Because if I can make them pause for just a moment, make them second guess whether or not they want to kill their handsome, enchanting friend from District 4, I'll have the upper hand. And sometimes, in the arena, that's all you need.

I only have time to meet a few tributes, though, so I head for the District 1 and 2 chariots. They're the Careers, and they will be the ones I team up with if I play my cards right. I swagger over to District 1, where the tributes – a slim brunette girl with darting eyes and a tall, muscular boy with a wicked-looking scar across one cheek – are standing. Their stylist must also subscribe to the old way, because they are covered from head to toe in precious gems. Their chariot looks like a giant ruby and is pulled by roan horses.

"Nice gems," I say to the girl, sidling up to her and caressing her arm with one hand. She turns to me, looking affronted, but then she takes in my face and my smile and responds with a coy look. "Finnick," I breathe, nice and close to her ear to make it as intimate as possible. I don't flirt all that much, but I've seen it done enough to mimic the motions to great effect.

She shivers – a good shiver, I think – and says, "Gemma."

Apparently feeling left out – or possibly thinking that I'm invading his territory – scar boy flexes his muscles and steps beside us. "Orion," he grunts. "What do you want?"

"Just meeting and greeting," I say lightly, offering him my hand. He eyes me suspiciously for a moment, then takes it. "What do you think?" I ask. Orion obviously has no idea what I'm asking – I mentally note that he's slow on the uptake – but Gemma gets it pretty quickly.

"2 looks pretty strong," she says, glancing toward the appropriate chariot. The boy and girl are both red-heads, and since District 2's production is stone, they are covered in white powder to look like marble statues. Some red hairs peek through the white coating every here and there, though. At least they're wearing loincloths – and in the girl's case, a wrap around her chest – because nudity isn't disallowed. In fact, the poor saps from District 12 show up half the time in nothing but coal dust.

"Alliance?" I ask Gemma, and she glances at Orion. He appraises me for a bit, then shrugs. Gemma beams at me and offers her hand, which I pull up to my mouth and kiss. This sends her into a fit of giggles, which does not seem to amuse Orion. I suspect he might have designs on Gemma – as pointless as they are, considering only one of us is leaving the arena alive – so I decide to keep the flirting to a minimum around him.

I'm just about to go chat with 2, and maybe broach the idea of them joining our little threesome, when the triplets hurry over to me, looking harassed. I spot Germanicus shouting over by our sea-themed chariot, and figure he's been looking for me for a while now.

"Where have you been?" Livia pouts, tugging at my arm.

"Germanicus is livid," Lorenna says.

"The ceremonies are about to start!" Laria adds, and between the three of them they drag me over to Germanicus.

He pushes me up onto the chariot, where Calliope is already standing, shaking and clearly on the verge of tears. Her stylist – a short, chubby woman with silver skin – barks, "Stop crying, you'll ruin the makeup." Once the two stylists are assured that we are in place and our outfits are good to go, they bustle off to take their places in the stands.

Calliope is still trembling, so I place my hand softly against her shoulder. She's dressed identically to me, fish hat and all. "Try to smile," I urge her. I wonder for a second if she's just pretending to be a nervous wreck, so that when she turns out to be a deadly killer in the arena no one will see it coming. But her tears seem pretty real, so I try to give her the benefit of the doubt.

"Thanks, Finnick," Calliope says, and she manages a small smile. "Thanks for being nice to me. You don't have to."

"Sure I do," I dismiss. "You're my teammate. We have to look out for each other."

She laughs bitterly. "I'm not an idiot, pretty boy. When we get into the arena, you'll be gunning for me, same as everyone else."

"I won't be gunning for you," I say, and it's the truth. I don't really have a desire to kill anyone. Well, maybe if one of the tributes looks exactly like President Snow, but the odds of that happening are slim.

"But if you come across me in the arena and think you can kill me, you will," she presses.

That's also the truth, although not one I feel like admitting aloud. So I duck my head, and she softens. "Sorry," she says. "I forget you're just a kid. This must be as hard on you as it is on me."

I shrug, turning away from her. Calliope makes me uncomfortable, maybe because I'm starting to get to know her now, and I can't reconcile that with the fact that she's going to be my mortal enemy in a few days. "I'm going to take off this stupid hat as soon as we get into the plaza," I tell her. "You may want to do the same."

She smiles for real this time. "Thank god. It's hideous, isn't it?"

"Horrendous," I agree.

Then the music starts up, and our horses head over to the big double doors, where a line is forming. We're behind District 3, who are dressed up like giant gears and look even dumber than we do. As we planned, as soon as our chariot passes through the doors, Calliope and I pull the fish hats off our heads and stuff them by our feet.

I see some of the tributes waving at the cheering crowds pressed around us, while others shake in fear, or stare off into space like they're better than everyone else. Since I've decided to go with the approach of making them all love me, I wink and smile mysteriously and basically flirt with the crowd. It works like magic, and soon they start chanting my name. When I start to blow kisses to the crowd, some of the women actually jump up in the air, trying to catch them. I glance up at the jumbo-screen set up behind President Snow's stage, and see that I'm getting way more than my fair share of screen time.

By the time we go back through the doors into the Training Center, I'm exhausted from my mass seduction, and Calliope has tears welling in her eyes. "It's over," I remind her. "You did great."

"But not as well as you," she sobs, and the waterworks start to flow again. I think she realizes what I'm trying to do, not that I was being particularly stealthy about it. And she must think it's working, because she lets out a loud wail and runs for the elevator.

The other tributes are heading in a steady trickle for the door, but I see that nearly every girl glances back at me at one point or another, as do most of the guys. "It's just unfair," one of the boys mutters to another tribute, and I can't help but agree with him. I did nothing to deserve my angel face, but I'm sure as hell not stupid enough not to take advantage of what I have.

Mags is waiting for me in my room with a bowl of sugar cubes. If she's trying to win her way into my heart via sweet treats, she's doing remarkably well. "How'd I do?" I ask her, ripping off the golden bodysuit. I'm wearing underwear, so it's not like I'm stripping naked in front of her. Then I collapse onto my bed.

She scuttles over to me and offers up the sugar cubes. I take a few and wait for her response. "You're a smart boy," she finally says.

"Capitol people are shallow," I tell her. "And I've always been good with making people fall in love with me. A smile here, a wink there. But will it work?"

Mags pulls out the picture of her as a girl again. "It worked for me," she says, although she has a faraway look in her eyes. "But that was before..." she trails off.

"Before what?" I press, but she doesn't answer. So instead I ask, "Am I doing it right?"

She cackles. "You're a natural. And now you should sleep. Training tomorrow." Mags hands me a single sugar cube, and then leaves.

I pop the cube in my mouth and stare at the ceiling, lost in thought.


	6. Part 1: Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Six**

I meet up with Calliope the next morning when Mags and I join her and Andromache in the elevator on the way down to the training level. She seems to have recovered from her breakdown last night, but Andromache keeps glancing at me in this calculating way that really makes me nervous. Then Mags puts her hand on my arm and I relax.

We step off the elevator, and I look out on the training room. It's the same as I remember from TV – long, high-ceilinged room lined with booths devoted to pretty much anything you can think of.

I already know what Mags is going to say before she speaks. "Go make friends," she says, and I nod. As I head over to the nearest booth – archery – Calliope follows in my footsteps like a shadow. I guess she's sticking by me at Andromache's request – she probably thinks Calliope will survive longer if people associate her with me.

I've just picked up a bow and started to string it when the District 2 tributes come over to introduce themselves. "I'm Rock, and this is Martia," the boy says. He's taller than me, and older as well, so I don't make a smart remark about his ridiculous name. The flame-haired, freckle-faced Martia eyes me in obvious interest, which works just fine for me.

"Finnick," I say, shaking their hands. Then I remember my tail. "And Calliope, my District mate." Calliope's holding it together much better today – you can barely tell that she's valiantly holding back tears. "Feel like shooting a few arrows with us?" That's my way of asking if they want to join our Career pack, and they catch on instantly.

"Sounds fun," Rock says, picking up the biggest bow. He fits in an arrow and makes a fairly decent shot. I tell myself to be extra wary of him if he gets his hands on a bow.

After about fifteen minutes of archery – we don't have bows in District 4, so I'm not exactly impressing anyone with my skills – I spot Gemma and Orion over at the knives station. They are both sparring with trainers, and they are both very, very good. "That's Gemma and Orion over at knives, from District 1," I tell my companions. Since District 1 means Careers, they have no problem going to say hello.

We spend the next three days as a pack, the six of us – Orion and Gemma, Rock and Martia, me and Calliope. We eat together and train together. And even though we rebuff the advances of a few tributes looking to join our little alliance, I make sure to shoot them a smile. No point in making unnecessary enemies.

Since I know that I'm good with knives and spears, I show off my skills to prove to the Careers that I'm more than just a pretty face. I make sure to do this early on the first day, so they open up to me right away. It turns out that Calliope really is quite good with a saw, and although the Careers shoot her annoyed looks every once in a while, they seem to accept her presence.

Mags waits for me each night in my room, ready to dispense wisdom which I am quickly coming to value highly. The first night, she praises me on showing the Careers what I can do, but suggests I avoid giving too much away. So the next day, when we head for the knot-tying booth, I act really hopeless and end up tying Martia and myself together with rope. She's giggling the whole time, so I know that I'm definitely getting in her good books.

After the second day of training, Mags tells me in a no-nonsense tone to spend at least an hour at the edible plants booth, and the same amount of time at the wilderness survival station. "It could save your life," she says, and I believe her, so I do what she tells me the next day.

We also talk about the private sessions that come at the end of the third training day. Each tribute gets fifteen minutes alone with the Gamemakers to prove how good they are, and the Gamemakers assign them a mark between 1 and 12. 1 means you're the walking dead, and 12 means you're impossibly good – no one has ever gotten a 12, but 1s crop up every now and then.

Mags sits me down on my bed and stares at me for at least five minutes. Then she smoothes my hair with one wrinkled hand. I know she's thinking of Liron, her lost grandson. "You're good with knives and spears," she finally says, getting down to business. "I would say swim, but there's no pool."

We both laugh at that. Every person in District 4 learns to swim, most before they can walk. If this were a swimming competition, they would already be handing me the crown. Calliope might give me a run for my money, but she doesn't have my muscles, plus she didn't spend her childhood on a boat.

Mags scrutinizes me closer. "We need something really unique to make you stand out. You're a fisher – do you ever go out deep enough, where the sharks and big sea creatures live?"

"All the time," I say, and I think I can see where she's going with this. Luckily for her, I've got a little secret tucked up my sleeve that's exactly what she's looking for. "I'm pretty handy with a trident."

She nods, but says, "I don't think you'll be finding one of those in the arena."

"But for training?"

Mags considers this for a moment. "That might work. You're good?"

"Very," I say confidently, because I am.

She smiles and hands me the sugar cubes.

The personal training sessions start up after lunch on the third day. I mess around with my Career pack until the first of them is called in. Since they go District by District, I don't have to wait too long. When one of the attendants says, "District 4, Finnick Odair," I take a deep breath and head into the examination room.

Most of the Gamemakers are leaning forward in their chairs when I walk in, which amuses me. I guess they remember me from the opening ceremonies. Playing along, I wink at one of the women, and she gets a dreamy look in her eyes. It's like taking candy from a child, I think, then take my place in the middle of the room and wait for instructions.

"Impress us, Mister Odair," Seneca Crane tells me. I'm pretty sure I've already given them quite an impression – and I suspect that if I just stand there for the whole fifteen minutes looking gorgeous, I'll probably end up with a halfway decent score. But I need a high score to cement my place with the Careers.

I head for the spears station, and spot a few metal tridents stacked up in the back corner. Picking up one, I make my way back to center stage, dragging a practice dummy along for the demonstration. I'm about to start when I get a great idea. I pull off my shirt and toss it aside, and I hear a few sighs from my audience.

Then I let my trident fly, and suddenly they have a whole new reason to be impressed. It's a natural extension of my arm, and I can put it wherever I want almost unerringly. I aim for the groin, and the trident imbeds several inches into the dummy's waist. Then I turn and give a little bow, making sure to end it with an oh-so-subtle hip thrust. The women stare at me, eyes glazed over with lust. Even though I don't look fourteen, I wonder if they've forgotten how young I am. Or if they even care.

I go grab a few more tridents and throw them, then do some basic combat moves. I make sure to do them slowly, so those voyeuristic Capitol stooges can eat up every move, every pose. When I finish with a cocky grin and a wink, the women start applauding madly. Seneca Crane shushes them, and I'm escorted out.

The other Careers – great, now I'm thinking that I actually am a Career – are waiting for me, and ask me how it went. "I think I heard applause?" Gemma says. Then she notices I'm missing my shirt and ogles my chest.

I strike a pose. "They couldn't get enough of me." Since even the most taciturn of my Career pack have warmed up to me in the last two days, they all laugh appreciatively. But I know that Orion is faking it, and Rock has a calculating glint in his eye. I haven't forgotten for a second that none of these teenagers are my friends.

Back up on the fourth floor, Mags, Andromache, and Pompey are waiting for me. I entertain them with a pointless story for a few minutes until Calliope shows up, on the verge of tears again. "How'd it go?" I ask her..

Predictably, her response takes the form of bursting into tears. Again I wonder if this is all some carefully calculated act, but I remind myself that she's been this weepy ever since her name was called at the Reaping. I don't know if anyone is that good an actress.

"I expect she sawed some boards," Andromache says dismissively. "Maybe built them a chair. Useless girl." I'm abruptly furious with her – she's supposed to be Calliope's mentor, and this is the job she does! No wonder Calliope can barely string two sentences together. I prepare to ream her out, but Mags gets there first. She rants too quickly and quietly for me to make it all out, but Andromache looks suitably shame-faced by the end of it.

Apparently trying to make peace, Andromache says, "Sorry. I didn't mean it. I'm sure you did fine, Calliope. Dear." She stands up and goes to give Calliope the most awkward hug I've ever witnessed. Thank god I had the good sense to choose Mags over that witch.

Mags tosses me a sugar cube. I suck on it and tell her how my evaluation went. "I threw some tridents around, did some basic moves. Oh, and I took off my shirt." Mags laughs at that, and even Calliope manages a small smile.

Calliope glances down at her chest, which is on the buxom side. "I wonder if they would have given me a better mark if I took off my clothes."

"Who knows?" I shrug. "You're pretty hot – it might have worked."

She laughs, and I give her a friendly one-armed hug. If I had known that boorish comments were the way to her heart, I would have tried them sooner.

Pompey finally pipes up, apparently tired of being in the background. "It's a big day tomorrow!" he enthuses, clapping his hands. He never seems to get tired – I wonder if he has some sort of caffeine patch permanently inserted in his heart to keep him going like this. "Interviews! Probably the most important part of the Games! That's where the audience can really get to know you, so let's all get our beauty sleep so we look our best!"

"Wait," Andromache says sharply, pointing to the TV set against the far wall. It has been on mute up till now, but I realize that they are about to announce the training scores.

Gemma and Orion both pull 9s. Martia gets an 8, but Rock gets a 10. I'll have to watch out for him, because he didn't impress me overly much in training, which means he was hiding something. Then a 4 and a 6 from District 3. My grinning face pops up accompanied by a 10. Not bad at all. Calliope gets a 3, and she bolts for her room.

I sit through the rest of it, not really paying attention. A couple of kids get pretty good scores, so I make mental note of them, but nothing to really worry about. It's the Careers I'll need to watch my step around, especially because they're my allies.

When the broadcast is done, I depart for my room, Mags trailing me like a duckling following her mother duck. By now used to this, I hold the door open without being prompted, snagging a bowl of sugar cubes on my way inside so the dear old lady doesn't have to carry it in her frail hands. We perch side by side on the bed, silently crunching the delicious treats.

I wait for Mags to say something, but she remains unusually quiet. Finally, she teeters upright, gives my head a feather-light kiss, and leaves as silently as she came. I try to figure out if she's giving me some sort of message, but I eventually decide that she's just trying to comfort me in her own way. It can't be easy, having children in your care going off to be killed every year.

It strikes me all of a sudden how staggeringly unfair the Hunger Games are. I don't think it ever really hit me before, because my life has been fairly peaceful up until now. But the Hunger Games ruin lives – not just the tributes who have to throw away their lives each year, but the victors too, because they have to come back each year and relive the experience over and over. And that will be my fate, too, if I survive.

I briefly contemplate just killing myself now, ending the suffering before it begins. But I'm a survivor, always have been, and I promised my family I'd do whatever it takes to come home. So that's exactly what I'm going to do.


	7. Part 1: Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Seven**

My prep team shows up the next morning and sets to work with a vengeance. When Germanicus arrives at noon, they've styled my hair into dozens of thin spikes – apparently they're planning to dress me like a sea anemone. He nods in approval and shows me my outfit – silky green shirt and tailored black pants. That throws me for a second, mostly because of how normal the outfit is. I had been expecting a purple bodysuit covered in golden spines or something equally insane.

"Thanks," I tell Germanicus as he helps me into the clothes, not that I need assistance. "These are great."

"Now he shows appreciation," Germanicus scowls. Apparently he's still sore over my hiding his fish hat during the opening ceremonies. I make sure to be extra charming with him, and by the end of our session he's back to his usual pompous self.

Pompey arrives leading Mags, who is supposed to be teaching me how to conduct an interview this afternoon. Since Calliope is off getting prettied up by the prep team, Mags and I take over the sitting room for our meeting. She sits across from me at the big wooden table and peers at me intently.

"I think we should just go with flirty," Mags opines, clasping her hands together. "You're very good at it, and half the Capitol is already in love with you anyway."

She shows me how to position myself as if I were on a stage, pointing out where the cameras are likely to be so I can make sure they catch me at the best possible angle. Not that I really have a bad angle. Mags also unbuttons my shirt a little. "It doesn't hurt to give them what they want," she smirks.

Because I've already got the flirting and smiling and talking down pat, she instead walks me through what kind of questions I might be asked. "Caesar Flickerman is very good about helping out the tributes," she says, and I know from watching the Games myself that he's one of your greatest assets onstage. "Keep your answers vague. If he asks you about a girlfriend, be mysterious. You're trying to make yourself a sex symbol, that unattainable guy who every woman dreams of being with. If you single out an object of your affection, you might lose them."

Having worked this much out myself, I nod. But then she drops a bombshell on me that I never saw coming.

"What do you know of what happens to the victors after they win?" she asks me.

I shrug. "They come back to Capitol each year for the Games, don't they? Even if they aren't mentoring, they still have to show. I assume they hang out and reminisce on old times."

"There is a good deal of that," Mags agrees. "But there's more. It started fifteen years ago. Do you know Haymitch?"

His name rings a bell. District 12, winner of the Quarter Quell. He was pretty handsome, as I recall. But since then he's turned to drink. He spends half the time falling over on screen, and has become something of a laughing stock. I feel bad for the District 12 tributes, stuck with a mentor like that.

"He was quite the looker in his day," Mags says. "It started with him. Capitol patrons used to sponsor kids for various reasons, but when Haymitch won, President Snow got the brilliant idea of having him thank each sponsor personally for their contribution."

I suspect she's trying to tell me something very important, but I'm just not getting it. It must have something to do with the personal thanking, though, so I say, "Thank them how?"

Mags closes her eyes. "Think about how the Gamemakers were looking at you yesterday, and then tell me."

I think back to the looks of half-crazed lust in some of the women's eyes. It hits me like a bolt of lightning. "Are you saying that Snow started... what, selling Haymitch out to the Capitol patrons? Like, as a..." I trail off, unable to vocalize my suspicions.

"As a sex slave," Mags says firmly.

I sink back in my seat. "Shit."

"There's more," she tells me. "Haymitch protested the treatment, and Snow had his family killed. But once they were dead, Snow had nothing to hold over his head. What was Snow going to do – put him in chains and force him to prostitute himself for those women? Haymitch, as a victor, was a media darling, and Snow didn't want to let the general populace learn about his... arrangements."

"So that's why Haymitch is drunk all the time," I realize. Then I figure out what Mags is really trying to say. "If I win, I'm going to be just like that. Snow is going to sell my body, make me... And if I don't cooperate, he'll kill my family. Why did you tell me?"

Mags looks suddenly weary, as if the stress of the situation is finally hitting her. "Because I truly believe you can win. But I want you to know what you're setting yourself up for – the life you're going to have to lead – if you survive."

I may only be fourteen, but I can imagine pretty well what will happen to me. I'll be untouchable until I'm sixteen, of course, because I'm still a minor, but once I hit majority Snow will ever so discretely hand me out to whoever he wants. And they'll do anything they want with me, and I'll do anything they want in return, because if I don't Snow will kill Natare and father.

"I promised my family that I would come home to them, whatever the cost," I tell Mags, and she nods. I wonder if father realized what he was really asking when he made me promise to come home to them. Doubtful. He's never been to Capitol, so he couldn't possibly know the grisly truth of the Hunger Games victors. But now I do, and I'm certainly not going to be the one to break it to him. And I'm not going to let it stop me from winning.

"Let's worry about my life of prostitution after I win, alright?" I say lightly.

Mags smiles and hands me another sugar cube.

I wait offstage with Calliope and the Careers until we are beckoned on set. Sitting down, I gaze out at the audience that spreads before me like a sea of blinking eyes and eager grins. I start to do my smiling and winking routine, when Mags' dire prediction of my life past the Games hits me. She couldn't allow me to verbally and visually prostitute myself before the Capitol during this broadcast without me knowing that the physical version would have to follow.

Pushing aside these ugly thoughts, I settle into my old routine, making eye contact, smiling mysteriously, on and on from one woman to the next. By the time Caesar Flickerman calls my name, I'm pretty sure that I've already seduced a good percentage of the crowd. My interview should take care of the rest.

Flickerman beckons me over, and I notice that his ever-changing hair and face are pale green this year. He looks kind of sickly, but he's smiling, so I plaster a smirk on my face and saunter over to him.

"Finnick Odair," he says, and the audience sighs. "You've made quite a splash at the Games this year, and the main event hasn't even begun!" The audience laughs at his nautical pun. I chuckle, and the audience falls silent as they let the sound wash over them. It astonishes me how easy they are to manipulate. Or maybe I'm just really good at it.

I wink at the camera. "I can't wait till it does. I have a few tricks up my sleeve yet that might... impress you." I let the word impress roll off my tongue, and every woman in the crowd who hasn't fallen head over heels for me does so now.

Caesar chuckles, genuinely delighted by me. "Quite the charmer, eh, Finnick?"

I shrug, leaning back in my chair to give the ladies a proper view of me. "Let's just say there are quite a few girls I've left broken-hearted back at home." I'm making this up, but for all I know it might be true.

Caesar leans forward. "Anyone special?"

I smile mysteriously and keep my lips firmly sealed. Caesar roars with laughter. "Tell us about yourself, Finnick," he prompts.

"I'm from District 4, so I've spent pretty much my entire life on my father's fishing boat. Every morning I strip down and dive into the sea." I pause here to let the ladies picture this in their heads. "It's amazing under water – a whole other world that you can never really visualize until you've seen it yourself. Hundreds of rainbow coloured fish floating around you like a cloud, coral shaped like anything you can imagine."

I paint a picture for them of life under the sea, and all of them – Caesar included – are hanging off my every word. Finally my three minutes are drawing to a close, and Caesar puts his hand to his ear for a second. I'm guessing there's a little speaker wedged in there, because he suddenly says, "I hear you surprised the judges in your personal training session. What did you do, exactly?"

In response, I stand and begin to remove my shirt so slowly that it's basically a strip-tease. When it's off, I smirk and fling it into the crowd. They scramble after it, and a mini-riot breaks out. Caesar looks a bit alarmed, but hides it well. The buzzer sounds, and the stage hands discretely get me back to my seat before I bring the house down.

I watch the rest of the interviews with disinterest. It's the same as every year – some tributes are funny, some nervous, others bloodthirsty. I'm not too surprised when Calliope breaks down halfway through her interview and they have to escort her offstage.

Finally we are dismissed, and I head back to the fourth floor. Pompey is waiting for me, and immediately begins gushing about how wonderful I was. He offers to let us watch the replay on the TV, but I don't need to see it again. I head for my room, and Mags dutifully follows me with her sugar cubes.

"You did well," she says. "They bought it."

I munch on a sugar cube thoughtfully. "What do you think will happen tomorrow?"

Mags assumes a thoughtful pose. "The cornucopia will be the hardest part. It's going to have a lot of useful things you're going to want, but you're going to be fighting twenty-three other kids to get them."

"I have the Careers," I remind her.

"Have you worked out how you're meeting up?"

"I think we're bluffing it."

She nods. "Try to make a beeline for one of them – whoever's closest. They'll have your back while you both grab what you need. You could even shout to the others where to meet up – no one outside your group is going to be suicidal enough to follow you."

"What about Calliope?"

Mags looks away uneasily. I don't blame her, because I know what she's thinking. "Keep her with you if you can. But don't be surprised if she doesn't make it."

"That's what I was thinking," I agree. Then another, more pressing issue comes to mind. "When do I ditch the Careers?"

"That will have to be up to you," Mags says. "When you can't trust them anymore. When it would be more advantageous to split. When one of them tries to kill you. When you're the only ones left. You'll have to play it by ear."

Not the clear answer I was looking for, but it will have to be good enough. "I should sleep," I tell her. "Big day tomorrow." Mags smiles but doesn't move from the loveseat. I don't mind her presence now, so I burrow under the blankets and shut my eyes, willing sleep to come.

After a few minutes, I hear movement, and then Mags is stroking my hair. I remember mother doing this, back when I was little, before she died, and I relax enough to eventually fall asleep.


	8. Part 1: Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Eight**

Mags is waiting for me the next morning, dozing on my couch. I wake her up, and she gives me a hug and wishes me luck. She doesn't bother assuring me that I'll survive, because she honestly thinks I have a fighting chance. Besides, nothing is assured, and Mags doesn't lie to me.

Germanicus is waiting for me outside, and after Pompey thumps me on the shoulder and tells me to try my hardest, I followed my stylist up to the rooftop, where a hovercraft is waiting. The immobilizing current prevents me from falling off the ladder that they use to haul me aboard, and also stops me from flinching when they insert a tracker into my left forearm.

I try to look out the windows – if I thought the view from the train was spectacular, a bird's eye view must be even better – but they black out the windows. Don't want me to get a sneak peek of the arena.

We touch down and Germanicus leads me to the Launch Area. I take a shower, and he puts me into the uniform that every tribute is going to be wearing. It's a thick two-piece affair, with a fur-lined hood and big mittens. The whole thing is glaringly white. There's a black bodysuit underneath, but even this is thicker than anything I've worn before.

Germanicus comments on the clothes as he helps me put them on. "Definitely going to be cold there. Shame for you. I assume you were planning on taking off your shirt as soon as possible.

He's right, of course, but I can still see some possibilities with the suit's design. The hood won't cover my face at all, and that's probably my best attribute. And the suit is thick, but it's still tailored to my body. I can work with this, I think.

Then Germanicus deposits me on a golden disk at the far corner of the room. A glass tube seals around me, and I barely have time to give him a wave before the platform shoots upward.

The first thing I notice is the light. It's so bright that I have to cover my eyes with my hands so I'm not blinded. Claudius Templesmith, the announcer, booms out from some hidden speaker, "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games begin!"

My eyes adjust, and I realize it's so bright because the sunlight is reflecting off snow. We seem to be in some sort of arctic tundra – everything is covered in a layer of white. The cornucopia is ahead of me, glinting gold in the sun's harsh glare, and the tributes are ringed around it. I see that Gemma is a few golden discs away, fidgeting in anticipation. We have to stay on the pressure plates for one full minute or else they explode.

Over to the left I see trees, and to the right looks like hills. Behind me is more forest, and straight ahead of me, a few hundred years behind the cornucopia, is a cliff that drops off into the sparkling blue sea. So there is water, I think with a strange sense of relief, although not water I can swim in. Still, that little bit of home focuses me and reminds me why I'm here. And what I have to do.

There's a gunshot, and the Hunger Games have officially begun. I shout to Gemma, and she angles toward me as we rush for the mass of items piled around the huge golden cornucopia. We head for the best items, which are piled up against the giant horn itself, but Gemma picks up a couple of knives along the way. As we run, I hold out my hand, and she hands me one without hesitation.

I spot a set of spears, and I reach for them. Orion's warning shout reaches my ears just in time. I spin around and sink my knife into the belly of a tiny kid – he looks like he's about eight. Then I see the hatchet in his hand, and remember father's warning. They're all sharks, and I can't waste time feeling sorry for them.

Orion joins us, and between the three of us we keep the other kids away long enough to grab several big backpacks and as many weapons as we can carry. "Find the others!" Gemma shouts at me, and I scan the area quickly. It's complete mayhem, kids scrambling to get weapons and packs and attacking whoever gets in their way. I hear a scream, and see Calliope go down, a sword hilt sticking out of her back. Even from this distance, I can see the tears frozen on her cheeks.

It hits me then how cold it is. The rush of adrenaline must have masked the fact that this entire place is freezing. Even with the suits, I feel the bite of the arctic wind. Then I spot Rock and Martia on the other side of the cornucopia. They look a little worse for the wear, but they're alive and they have packs and weapons slung over their shoulders. I shout for them to group up in the woods, and we all race for the treeline.

We almost make it without a scratch, but some clever kid decides to even the odds right from the beginning and leaps out from behind a bush. He slashes Martia right across the throat, and she sinks to the ground with a pained gurgle. Red splashes across the snowy ground. Rock roars in outrage and strangles the kid with his bare hands.

"He's dead," I say, nodding toward the trees. "Come on, we need to move."

When Rock keeps on squeezing, Orion and Gemma seize his arms, and between them they detach his hands from the kid's neck. Rock shakes his head, regains control, and turns to Martia. He grabs her stuff, gives me a nod, and at my command we race into the forest.

We keep going for about an hour, until we're sure that no one has followed us. Then Gemma suggests we break for a few minutes and see what goodies we managed to pull from the cornucopia. It looks pretty promising – each pack has a decent supply of food and water, as well as a flint and steel. "We're going to have some cold nights," I predict, and Gemma nods in agreement.

I see Orion and Rock exchange a covert glance, so quick that if I hadn't been looking for it I would have missed it completely. Impossible to tell what they're planning, but right now Gemma is the only one I can trust, however tentative that trust may be. I have no doubt now that Orion and Rock will turn on me the second they think I've outlived my usefulness.

"At least water won't be a problem," Orion says after a while. "Snow." Yes, I think, we can melt the snow, or just stuff it into our mouths. Water won't be a problem. But the cold will be, as well as whatever wild animals and natural disasters the Gamemakers have wished up for us.

"We should seek high ground," Rock suggests. "Harder to be ambushed."

We all agree, so we spend the rest of the afternoon seeking out a suitable campsite. It's dusk when we find a good place – a small hillock in the middle of the trees, easily defensible and with a sturdy tree we can climb to get a view of the entire arena. Instead of suggesting that someone should do this, I go ahead and scale the tree. At the top, I can see the whole arena, just as I predicted. Its layout is basically what I'd already figured out, although I note that the hills eventually turn into mountains. But they're too far away to be a viable target for the other tributes.

"No one that I can see," I report when I'm back on the ground. The backpacks also contained bedrolls, and my companions have arranged them in a rough circle at the base of the tree. Rock is gone, and Gemma informs me that he's looking for firewood.

While he's gone, the evening announcement comes. The Panem anthem plays, and then Claudius Templesmith lists all the tributes who've died so far. There's nine in all, counting Calliope, and I feel a brief pang at her death. So she wasn't plotting anything at all – she really was just a terrified girl. I feel kind of bad now for telling her I would kill her if we met up in the arena, but I doubt me acting any differently could have helped her survive in here.

"That leaves fifteen," Gemma says. "More than usual."

"I doubt all the packs had flint and steel," I say. "The cold night is going to claim at least a couple of them, guaranteed."

As if the Gamemakers are listening to me, the temperature starts to drop as the sun goes down. Rock returns with an armload of branches, and between the four of us we fashion an acceptable campfire.

"Is this a good idea?" Gemma suddenly asks. "We're giving away our location."

"We're the Careers," I remind her. "No one is going to attack us."

"And if they do, whoever's on watch will slaughter them," Orion adds, cracking his knuckles in anticipation. His scar looks even more gruesome in the flickering firelight. "I'll take first watch."

Not exactly comforted by this, I get into my sleeping bag. My head somehow ends up next to Gemma's – I think she may have planned it this way. "Don't worry," she dimples at me. "His bark's about the same as his bite."

I arch my eyebrows at her. "That's supposed to comfort me?"

Gemma gives me a slow smile. "If my words don't, maybe my body can."

That's an invitation if I've ever heard one. But I'm here to win, not get it on with Gemma, regardless of how attractive she is. And she's very cute. Then it occurs to me that she might have been counting on us becoming an item – I could do irreparable damage if I reject her outright. "I bet it can," I murmur suggestively. "But Orion has his eye on you."

"Screw Orion," she whispers. But she gets the point. The others probably wouldn't appreciate us making out in front of them. So Gemma bats her eyelashes at me and says, "Sweet dreams, Finnick."

I wink at her and turn away. Girls make things so complicated. The thought of Rock hovering over me, clutching a flail and hoping someone will come along that he can swing it at, isn't exactly comforting, but I'm exhausted enough that sleep comes quickly.


	9. Part 1: Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Nine**

I have the last shift, so I get to watch the sun rise. It's beautiful, but the most remarkable part is that it looks exactly the same as the sun Natare and I used to watch rise from the deck of our fishing boat. Obviously I know it's the same sun in the sky, but it somehow makes me feel less alone.

After a few hours I wake Gemma, Orion, and Rock, keeping the fire stoked in the interim. Once they're up and about, we sit down to discuss important matters, like how we're going to track down and kill the other tributes. It had completely escaped me until this moment that the point of Careers, after all, is to kill as many people as possible. I decided to suck it up and deal with it. If I have to kill someone to stay in the group, then that's what I'll do. No sympathy for the sharks.

Orion turns out to be a good tracker, so we follow him as he leads us through the woods. We bring all our gear with us, because we don't have the manpower to leave someone behind to defend our campsite.

Around midday, Orion gets a big smile on his face. He puts a finger to his lips and beckons us forward. We run silently through the trees for about five minutes, and then he holds up a hand. He makes a circle motion with his finger, which I interpret as a command to surround the area. Gemma and I head right, while Rock goes left.

When I'm in position behind a snow-covered bush, clutching a spear in one hand and a long knife in the other, I survey the area we've effectively turned into a kill zone. Two girls – one older, one younger – are sleeping on the ground, huddled together for warmth. They clearly didn't get a pack with a flint and steel in it, because they have a pile of twigs beside them that they obviously tried and failed at turning into a campfire.

Orion lets out a battle cry and charges into the clearing. I don't bother following, appointing myself watchman in case the sounds of fighting attract anyone. This isn't a problem – my three companions are more than happy to pick up the slack. Orion stomps down on the younger girl's head with his thick boot, and blood sprays out. Rock swings his flail into the older girl's shoulder, who is halfway onto her feet by this point, and Gemma flings a dagger into her chest that topples her back to the ground.

As the boys hoot and holler, Gemma glances at me. "All clear," I call, now entering the clearing. Two cannons boom in the distance, indicating that the girls' hearts have stopped beating.

This gets Rock's attention. He didn't realize that I hadn't participated in the attack until just now. "Not afraid to get your hands dirty, are you, pretty boy?"

I respond by dipping my hands into one of the blood pools. I draw two streaks across each of my cheeks. Rock's eyes widen. "I thought it might be a good idea to make sure no one decides to sneak up and stab us in the back while we murder two sleeping girls," I snarl, getting all up in his face. "Got a problem with that?"

Rock glances at the red streaks on my face, and then says, "No. No problem." But there's hate in his eyes, and I really have to watch my step now.

Gemma comes over and wipes the blood off my face. "My war paint," I protest, laughing.

She grins and says, "Your face is too handsome to be marred by anything."

"Marred? Good word." Gemma laughs and hugs me, which of course has Orion glaring at me again. I discretely extract myself from her grasp and go to examine the dead girls' belongings. "Nothing," I proclaim. "Let's move out."

As soon as we've left the clearing, we hear a hovercraft swoop down to carry away the tributes' corpses. Goodbye, I say silently. Sorry we had to kill you. But I don't feel guilty, because this is the Hunger Games, and I have to do whatever takes to win.

We track down two more tributes that day, both of them hiding in the woods. One puts up a decent fight – I end up taking him down at distance with a spear. The other cowers and ends up being strangled by Rock. I'm starting to suspect that his sheer strength won him that 10 in training. It doesn't surprise me – his muscles are gigantic.

Night falls, and I realize that no one did die last night of exposure, because Templesmith didn't announce any names this morning. But as we build the campfire Gemma says, "It's colder tonight." So that's the Gamemakers' plan – the longer the game takes, the colder it gets, and the faster we die off.

As we sit around the fire, warm and content, a silver parachute suddenly floats down out of the sky. We look at each other in confusion, because our mentors are in charge of turning donations from Capitol citizens into gifts for us in the arena, and we aren't exactly badly off. Probably the best off out of all the kids here. So why the gift?

It floats down closest to me, so I shrug and open it up. Inside is a tureen of hot clam chowder, complete with ceramic bowls and spoons. A steaming loaf of bread is perched on top of the bowls. "Wow," Gemma breathes, and I silently echo the sentiment.

As we dig in, I try to figure out who sent this, and why. The others probably won't notice the significance, but clam chowder? Seafood? This must be meant for me. And if Mags can afford to send me such an extravagant gift that I have absolutely no need for, the donations must be pouring in.

I glance up at the sky, where there must be a camera hidden somewhere, and give a slow, seductive smile. Then I go back to eating the stew, except I make sure I lounge in a way that keeps my face visible at all times, and I slid my lips against the spoon each time I take a sip in a sensuous manner. Eat your hearts out, I silently taunt the people of Capitol, and I'm sure that the sales of clam chowder in Capitol have just skyrocketed.

The next day we start out on the hunt again, but first we listen to the morning announcements. Claudius Templesmith lists off the one kid that died during the night, which, counting our four kills yesterday, leaves ten kids alive – so six others beside us. Two days in and we're down to ten – the Gamemakers aren't playing around this year. But that means that the ten of us left are pretty good at playing the game, so things should be trickier from now on.

Gemma picks up on my revelation, because she says, "We need to be careful."

"It's only going to get colder and harder from here," Rock agrees, caressing his flail almost lovingly. I remember that kid who went nuts and started cannibalizing the other tributes, and hope that Rock doesn't turn out the same way.

By mid-afternoon we haven't found anyone, so we end up setting up camp early and have a strategy session as the air cools around us. It really is getting colder – anyone who survived the last two nights through sheer willpower is going to eat it tonight. Again, Gemma follows my thoughts with worrying accuracy. "We have fire. It could be tempting to someone who doesn't."

We decide to sleep in shifts of two people, just in case. It turns out to be a good idea, because halfway through the night, Rock and I hear something rumbling ominously in the distance. It's a lot easier to wake up one person than three, and we have our stuff together in a few minutes. But the rumbling is growing louder, and we're getting worried.

Gemma, who is turning out to be surprisingly clever, figures it out first. "Avalanche," she says. Our eyes snap towards the mountains. Sure enough, a wall of white is coming toward us. Our wanderings brought us to the edge of the forest, and I figure that trees will probably slow down the snow, so I bolt for the trees and shout for them to follow.

The next half hour is insanity. Gemma sticks by me, and we get separated from Orion and Rock almost immediately. The ground is trembling as the snow wave approaches, and animals I hadn't even realized were in the forest rush past as we stumble through the trees. It's still the early hours of the morning, which makes it even worse because the sun isn't up yet and it's very hard to see.

The avalanche is getting closer, and we aren't moving fast enough. Regretting every word, I shout to Gemma, "Ditch the packs!" She nods, and slices through the straps. I follow suit, and we are able to gain some valuable ground.

Finally, the rumbling fades and the snow settles. Gemma and I collapse to the frozen ground, clutching our chests and panting desperately. After a few minutes I recover enough to take stock of our surroundings. We're on a small rise, still surrounded by trees, and our packs are long gone. Gemma managed to keep her brace of knives, and I still have three spears strapped to my back. I wordlessly hand her a spear, and she gives me two knives in return.

"Should we try to find Orion and Rock?" she asks me.

"Didn't you see them whispering together?" I say. "They were going to turn on us soon. Or on me, anyway. You can go find them, but I'm going to go it alone. Or with you, if you want."

Gemma's face transforms from sullen to dazzling. She throws herself at me, and we tumble into a snow drift. I take that to mean she's going to stay with me.

The morning sun peeks over the treeline, and we gradually put ourselves back together. Templesmith announces that two more have died in the avalanche, although it's not Orion or Rock. That leaves eight. We head back toward the avalanche, hoping to spot our packs, but after two hours of sifting through the snow we give it up as hopeless. Gemma suggests that we try to find some food, which I agree with, and we spend the next few hours trying and failing to stalk and kill a deer.

"This is impossible!" Gemma finally shouts, throwing the knife she's clutching to the ground. I clap my hand over her mouth, but it's too late. The deer, frozen just at the edge of our sight, scampers off into the woods.

She winces and picks up the knife. "Sorry."

"It's alright," I sigh, scanning the area for any signs of life. I spot a frozen berry bush I recognize from the edible foods station, but it's the dead of winter and there's nothing growing on the branches now.

My stomach rumbles, and Gemma's stomach soon begins to harmonize with mine. "This sucks," she grumbles. "One of the perks of being a Career is we aren't supposed to have to starve like everyone else."

I get a brainwave. Peeling back my hood – not smart, considering how cold it is, but I need this to work – I stare up at the sky with my most haunted, mournful expression and clutch my stomach. Seconds later, a silver parachute floats out of the sky and lands at my feet. Gemma gasps behind me and rushes over to open it. It's another tureen, this time filled with fish fry like father makes back home.

We dig in, although I make sure I do so as seductively as it's possible to do when eating fish fry. After Gemma gets a few decent mouthfuls into her stomach, she slows down and says, "That clam chowder – for you?"

I glance up at the sky again. "I think there's a lovely lady in Capitol looking out for me." I can imagine Mags laughing at that. If she really is up to her elbows in donations like I think she is, she probably is laughing. I blow a kiss to the sky.

Not wanting to press my luck, Gemma and I spend the rest of the afternoon hunting, although again without any success. By dusk we are exhausted again, and when I look up pleadingly to the sky another delicious dinner parachutes down into my waiting hands.

"This is unprecedented," Gemma observes, munching on the pork ribs with relish. "I mean, sure, mentors sometimes send some pretty sweet gifts, but all this…" She shakes her head. "You've got some friends in high places, Finnick."

It dawns on me that maybe these sponsors are so keen on keeping me alive because they know what comes after the games. If I had too much money, and was a lecher like half the people in Capitol seem to be, I could see myself donating thousands of dollars so that I could have a turn with them once they came of age. I suddenly can't bear to take another bite, aware that each time I accept one of these gifts, President Snow lines up another eager Capitol citizen to share my bed.

"Why aren't you eating?" Gemma asks me, suddenly concerned. I force myself to finish my half of the meal, and she relaxes.

We aren't sure what do about sleeping – should we take turns keeping watch? It seems the best solution, so I agree to go first. I also am put in charge of starting a fire, which is vastly more difficult now that we don't have flint and steel. Still, I gather an armful of branches and pile them up on a part of the ground I've cleared of snow. Then, not sure how to proceed, I slump back and stare at it pensively.

Something hits me on the head. Fearing an attack, I grab my spear and leap to my feet. Gemma is at my side a moment later, rubbing sleep out of her eyes with one hand and clutching a knife in the other. Then I realize what happened. "Don't worry, false alarm," I tell her, and she obligingly lies back down on the ground.

I go over to the silver package that parachuted onto my head a minute ago. When I find a lighter – an honest-to-god lighter, not flint and steel – I don't bother to hide my delight. Why should I? My generous sponsors in Capitol deserve to see their donations being appreciated. I flick the wheel and the branches go up in flames.


	10. Part 1: Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Ten**

The next morning, I realize that Mags may not actually have infinite funds to help me out. Maybe she's just been sending me these lavish meals because she's really bad at picking which gifts to send when. Things do get more expensive as the days pass, after all. So I suggest this as obliquely as possible to Gemma, not wanting to sound like I'm criticizing my mentor.

"I'm sure the good people of Capitol are being very wise with their choice of gifts," she says staunchly. In response, another silver parachute floats down out of the sky – beef jerky, to sustain us through the morning.

Okay Mags, I think, looking up at the sky. I get it. I'll focus on killing the other tributes, and trust in you to keep me alive while I do.

I contemplate killing Gemma right now – I hardly need her when I have an ally like the entire female population of the Capitol on my side – but I decide to keep her around for a bit. Who knows? She might come in useful. And I've seen her making those lovesick eyes at me, so I doubt she's planning on doing any backstabbing. Not to mention that I'm actually sort of enjoying her company.

The avalanche has narrowed the playfield considerably. Everything but the forest is washed out now, so the other tributes must be close. I'm about to suggest trying to track them down to Gemma, when her eyes widen. "Do you hear that?" she whispers.

Fearing another avalanche, I turn instinctively toward the mountains, but that's not what Gemma heard. She's referring to the howling that's getting louder and louder, coming in our direction. "Muttations?" Gemma asks.

"Run!" I shout. We don't really have a destination in mind – just away from the howling. It's hard going in snow – knee-high in some places – and I figure out pretty quickly that we're not going to outrun them.

"What about... a tree?" Gemma gasps as we race through the forest.

"Sounds... better than... this!" I return, and we start to look for a viable tree to climb. Since neither of us are slouches at climbing, we pick a tall, sturdy looking oak and shimmy up it. We position ourselves about fifteen feet off the ground, where the branches are still thick enough to hold us but where we should – hopefully – be high enough to be out of the mutts' reach.

I have knives and spears, two of each, while Gemma has one spear and a half dozen knives. "Don't throw unless you have to," I tell her. Although, for all I know, Mags will just send us a parachute full of exactly the weapons we'll need to beat these mutts. But somehow I doubt the Gamemakers will allow such blatant cheating.

The muttations burst into the clearing, still howling their grotesque little heads off. They are about waist height, and look like a cross between a wolf and a howler monkey. Their jaws are elongated and filled with jagged teeth, but they have prehensile tails and fingers. I realize instantly that hoping they can't climb is no longer on the table.

"Those bastards are better climbers than we are," Gemma complains. I can feel her shaking beside me, and I don't blame her. When they howl – there are five of them – every hair on my body stands on end, and I get this visceral urge to run as fast as I can. But since I'm kind of up a tree, running isn't an option.

"Five of them," I say, waiting for more to burst out of the trees. But there do seem to only be five – does that count as a stroke of luck? I'm sure these five can rip us apart just fine on their own. They sniff the air, spot us up in the tree, and begin to stalk toward us.

"Take them out before they take us out?" Gemma suggests.

"I like how you think," I grin at her, then heft a spear in my hand. "Now!"

We both let our spears fly. Mine hits the haunch of the lead one, and it goes down with a yowl of pain. Not dead, but it will take a while to recover from an injury like that. Gemma has better aim, and gets the one at the back of the pack straight through the neck. It slumps over with barely a sound.

The remaining three are pissed now, and they rush at the tree. Gemma and I reach for our knives, and we just manage to get them up when the mutts have scaled the tree and launched themselves at us. Much like I did at the cornucopia, I sink my knife into the belly of the first mutt that comes for me. It gives a pitiful moan and falls off me, fifteen feet down to splat on the wispy white ground.

Gemma isn't so lucky. She has to raise her knife to block the mutt's fangs, and the force of its leap carries them right off the branch. I start to turn and see if she survived the fall, but then the third mutt is on me and suddenly it's me falling through the air. I hit the rock hard ground with a dull thud, and my body feels like it was just run over by one of the Capitol's trains.

I push Gemma out of my mind, focusing on my body. My left arm feels like it's going to fall off, so I write it off as broken, possibly worse. But I can struggle to my knees, and it's just in time, because the mutt has also regained its feet and it's coming back for a second round.

Somehow, I managed to keep a hold of my knife as I fell. I notice it's stained with blood – did I manage to stab the mutt when it hit me? The mutt does seem to be favouring its left side. Instead of charging straight at me, though, the monkey-wolf takes a more cautious approach. It's learned from its last mistake, and now it's taking me as a serious threat. Which is fine by me. It gives me a few more seconds to recover, get my breath back.

Then it leaps forward. Without thinking, I pull free the second spear that was strapped to my back and let it fly. It flashes right past the mutt's fangs and sinks down its gullet. The mutt gives a bloody gurgle and collapses.

I stagger to my feet, half-blinded by the pain stabbing through my whole body, although mostly concentrated in my left arm. My first thought is for Gemma – did she survive? I find her a few yards away, lying on the ground with her limbs twisted at unnatural angles. A mutt is lying on top of her, and I can see that her right hand is still clutching the hilt of a knife that she must have driven into its heart at some point during the fall.

"Gemma," I say hoarsely, falling to my knees beside her.

Her eyes flutter open. They're blue, like the sea I love so much. I can't believe I never noticed that before now. "Hey, Finnick," she croaks. There's a pool of blood seeping out from under her body, and even with the mutt contributing to it, I know that the pool is too big. Gemma's not going to survive this.

Gemma stares up into my eyes. "Are you hurt?" she gasps.

"I'm fine," I tell her. I reach down and gently break her hold on the knife hilt. Clutching her hand in my own, I feel real sorrow for this girl, because even though she was a Career who might have tried to kill me eventually, I know her now, and she died trying to save our lives.

"I'm not," she whispers.

"No," I admit. "You're not." I see no reason to lie to her – she knows she's dying.

Her hand spasms in mine. "I love you," she tells me, as if this is some big surprise. Almost every girl I meet falls in love with me. But for a girl like Gemma, who has probably spent all her life with weapons and training regimes instead of real people, this must be a huge leap for her.

"Sleep now," I tell her softly, tracing her cheek with my hand. "You're safe."

I kiss her forehead, and she gives a long sigh. When I look down, her eyes have shut and she really does look to be at peace. A cannon shot fires, and I realize that I need to collect any weapons I want and then vacate the area so the hovercraft can remove her body.

My left arm is still on fire, so I tug all the spears free with my right hand. There's one still stuck in the side of the first mutt I hit, and it's whimpering but alive, so I drive a second spear into its head. Then I pull them back out, clutch the three spears as best I can, and stagger off into the trees. The hovercraft comes down a few minutes later, and then Gemma is gone.

I look up at the sky, and realize that it's only mid-morning. That entire encounter can't have taken more than five minutes. Emotionally numb and at a loss for how to proceed, I drop my spears at the base of a tree and sit down, leaning against the trunk. I've been putting it off, but I need to look at my arm, see how badly damaged it is, maybe figure out a way to salvage it. I'm no healer, but even I can manage a tourniquet if it's absolutely necessary.

My arm is a mass of red, so I scoop up snow with my right hand and gradually wash away the blood. Underneath the ripped snow suit, there is a jagged tear up my arm, and I can see bone poking through. No wonder it hurts so much. With herculean effort, I try to manoeuvre my bones back to where they are supposed to be. Then the pain becomes too much and I black out.

When I come to, the sun is low in the sky, and I realize that several hours must have passed. My arm is still bleeding and horribly disfigured, and my head is pounding. My stomach is rumbling but otherwise alright – I'm relieved that I didn't throw up, because that is about the farthest thing from sexy that I can imagine.

Then Mags, the miracle worker, comes to my rescue again. A silver parachute floats down and lands right beside my uninjured hand. It contains a small vial of frothing red liquid. I have no idea what it is, but it must be medicine of some kind – why else would Mags have sent it? So I pop open the top with my teeth and down the disgusting concoction in one gulp.

Immediately the pain lessens, and I'm able to breathe properly. My head clears, and when I look down at my arm, I can see that the wound already doesn't look as bad as it had a few minutes ago.

"Thank you," I tell the sky sincerely.

My best guess is that this medicine will eventually knit my arm back together and make it whole – it's amazingly powerful stuff, and I only feel a slight tingle in my left arm now. But I don't know how long it will take to do that – I'm betting on about a day – so I decide to find somewhere to rest up and recuperate while my arm heals.

I head deeper into the woods until twilight falls, at which point an electric heater floats down from heaven to keep me warm through the black night. By some amazing stroke of luck – not that I haven't had more luck than all the past victors of the Hunger Games, combined – I find a small cave nestled in one of the low hills scattered throughout the forest. After making sure there aren't any nasty surprises inside, I scramble inside and pull some branches over the entrance for camouflage.

After I curl up around the heater and finally let myself think about Gemma and the mutts, it occurs to me that this cave is tiny – it's unlikely that the Gamemakers bothered to plant a camera in such an insignificant space. It's as if this realization unlocks some part of me that I've been ignoring since my name was called at the Reaping, and suddenly I'm crying my eyes out. I'm crying for Gemma, and for Calliope, and for all the evils that the Hunger Games have brought to the people of Panem – myself included.

When the tears subside, my agony is replaced with determination. Nothing substantial, just a thought that replays in my head. The promise to myself that if there's ever a chance to make the Capitol pay for what they've done to us, we helpless slaves in the Districts, then I will do whatever I can to help bring about their downfall. Even if it means waiting decades, I swear to myself that I will see justice done.


	11. Part 1: Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Eleven**

It's dark when my eyes open, so I naturally assume it's still night time. But then I peer out through my branch door, and I see that the sun is high in the sky. The cave is just very good at blocking ambient light. I guess that it must be around noon. What day am I on now? Four? Six? I can't keep track, so I stop trying.

My arm feels a thousand times better. The bone must have re-set itself sometime during the night – I can move my arm again without blacking out – but the muscles must still be knitting back together because they ache terribly. Knitting reminds me of Mags, and then I can't stop thinking about those addicting sugar cubes she never seems to go anywhere without.

Reminisce later, I tell myself sternly. I consider heading back out into the woods, now that my arm is relatively healed, but I missed Templesmith's last two announcements so I don't know who's left to track down. I'm still feeling exhausted, though, so in the end I lie back down and go to sleep.

I wake up the next day, just in time for Templesmith's morning announcement. He says that a girl from District 11 is dead, then tells us that there will be a feast at the cornucopia at sundown. This means that there are very few of us left, because the Gamemakers are trying to herd us together – could it just be me, Orion, and Rock left? It wouldn't surprise me at all, and if they know I'm still alive they might still be working together.

If Templesmith's offering a feast, then it's for a good reason. Judging by the extravagance of my own gifts, I'm guessing that Orion and Rock aren't getting much for themselves. And if they lost their packs in the avalanche, they must be freezing at night – could there be some sort of heater at the cornucopia, like the one I have? But that still gives me no reason to go.

I hear something swooshing through the air outside my cave, and then a heavy plunk as it hits the hard ground. Curious – what could Mags possibly be planning? – I crawl out, noting as I do that my left arm is more or less completely healed. Amazing, this Capitol medicine. If only they made it available to the Districts, rather than hoarding it all for themselves. Maybe mother wouldn't have needed to die.

I force the depressing thoughts away and focus on the silver package. It's long and thin, except for one end that's wide and flat. I get an inkling of an idea, and soon I'm proved right. I hold the gift up in the air, admiring its shiny silver coating and deadly steel tips. Mags has sent me a trident – without a doubt the most expensive gift anyone has ever received in the arena. But what does she expect me to do with it?

The answer comes a moment later. Kill Orion and Rock with it, of course. And I even know where they're going to be – the cornucopia, at sunset. Templesmith's feast isn't a feast at all – it's a death trap. And if I pull this off right, Orion and Rock will be dead by nightfall, and I will be the victor.

But first to give thanks where thanks is due. I heft the trident up to the sky and give the Capitol audience the most brilliant smile I can muster. You won't regret this, my eyes say, and I don't doubt that they can hear me even if I've spoken no words.

The next order of business is to get a net of some kind. Spearing sharks is a lot easier if they can't move. I find some serviceable vines that aren't nearly as good as a decent length of rope, but I think that they should work. They're frozen solid, but I drape them over my little heater and they warm up pretty quickly. My morning, and most of the afternoon, is spent weaving dozens of lengths of vine into a large net – six by six feet, big enough to trap even a kid as huge as Rock.

Sundown is approaching, though, so I head in the direction of the mountains, which I can just make out over the treeline. It's not nearly as accurate as using a compass, but I know that the cornucopia is in between the trees and the mountains, so it seems as good a plan as any.

The sun is almost set now, and the cornucopia is in sight. There are already figures approaching the horn – but there are more than two. I can make out Orion and Rock coming from the mountains, a scrawny girl dashing in from the woods a few hundred yards away from me, and a tall, gangly boy wielding a scimitar coming in from the cliff.

This is obviously supposed to be the end of the 65th Hunger Games, and I decide to oblige my captivated audience. They gave me this magnificent trident, after all – they must want to see me use it. Maybe someone leaked my training tape.

I decide to take out the girl first. As I converge toward her, she glances at me but doesn't seem particularly frightened. I realize why a second later – she's one of the girls I made sure to smile at during training. She must not understand that I'm in it to win – maybe she can't comprehend that someone who looks so good could do something so bad as kill an unarmed girl. Because I can't see any sign of weaponry on her.

But this is the end, and I don't have time for mercy. They're sharks, I remind myself, and with a grunt I fling my makeshift net toward her. The girl goes down in a heap, struggling to find a way to pull the net off of her. Then I see her pull a dagger from her belt and start to hack at the strands. Her escape attempt is short-lived – I let the trident fly, and it goes straight through her neck. A cannon shot rings out.

Orion and Rock are at the cornucopia now, and they seem to be having a standoff with the gangly kid carrying the scimitar. None of them seem to have noticed me, or my little altercation with the girl I just killed. They must have decided that scimitar boy is a viable threat, because they keeping muttering to each other and keep their distance from him.

I decide to break the stalemate. I pull the now-bloody trident from the girl's corpse and jog up to scimitar boy's side, stopping a few yards away from him. "How's it going?" I say, as if I was running into him in the school hallways and just making polite conversation.

He half-turns to me, and when he sees who I am, his face relaxes into a smile. "Finnick," he says, and the scimitar lowers half a foot. My amiability in the training room paid off, just as I hoped it would. And now to take advantage of his naivety by sending him home in a body bag.

"Never trust a pretty face," I tell him, and then throw the trident. The impact of the blow takes him clear off his feet, and he's dead before he hits the ground. I pull the trident from his chest with a sickening slurp as another cannon shot rings out.

Orion and Rock are sizing me up, and for once they actually look nervous. I realize how I must look to them – carrying an insanely expensive weapon that could only have been sent to me as a gift, stained with the blood of my fellow tributes, rosy-cheeked, well-fed, and ready to do battle. Whereas Orion and Rock have definitely run into some troubles – the bloody rips in their suits suggest mutts, and Orion is breathing so harshly that his lungs might be damaged.

"So you're the one to beat," Rock says, eyeing me up and down. "Gotta say, pretty boy, I never would have guessed it would be you."

I shrug nonchalantly, because I know the Capitol will get a laugh out of it. Since they've obviously picked me to win the day, I might as well give them what they paid for. Not that I give a damn if they enjoy themselves or not, but I'll be spending the rest of my life among them – best to start off in their good books, especially if I plan on eventually bringing their entire, tyrannical society down on their cosmetically-altered heads.

"I never would have guessed it either," I say, rotating the trident so its three metal prongs gleam in the fading light of the sunset. "But apparently someone out there wants me alive."

"Nice fork," Orion rasps, then doubles over, coughing up blood. Rock gives him a disgusted look, and I can tell that he's contemplating killing him while Orion is completely helpless. It would be the smart thing to do, considering there's only three of us left, but I think he knows that if he takes his eyes off me for even a second, he'll have a trident imbedded in his chest.

Rock sneers at me. "What happened to Gemma? You stick her with that thing too?" His eyes widen maliciously. "Or did you stick her with something else first?"

Something in my mind snaps. The hand holding my net thrusts forward of its own accord, crashing down on the surprised heads of Orion and Rock. Orion starts coughing again, but Rock abandons his flail and digs a dagger out of his boot to saw through the vines. While he's occupied, I grab a knife from my belt and chuck it at Orion's hacking form. My aim is true – although it's difficult to miss a stationary target – and Orion goes down. The cannon fires a few seconds later.

But this has given Rock the time to free himself from the net. We square off against each other, circling, probing, trying to find each other's weakness. I have my trident, and he his flail – right now, it's hard to say who will win this. Then my eyes drift over to the cornucopia where, sure enough, a small electric heater is perched on a glass table.

My lips curve into a smirk. "A heater?" I say. "There must have been a couple of chilly nights."

"We managed," Rock grunts.

We continue to circle each other. "Really?" I say, smile widening. "They say that body heat is a good way to keep warm, but sex is even better. Did you two start rutting like hogs right away, or did you wait until Orion was injured so he couldn't fight you off?"

Rock loses it. Just like his taunt made me crazy not a few minutes earlier, I too manage to strike at whatever tenuous grip he still has on his sanity. But unlike him, I manage to restrain my bloodthirsty impulse, whereas Rock gives a howl of rage and lunges at me, flail swinging.

I leap backward, and the spiked ball barely misses my abdomen. It tears through my suit, though, and the cold starts to seep in. I don't look up in time, and Rock's second swing glances off shoulder. My left arm erupts in agony again, and in the part of my mind not screaming with pain I think how unlucky it is that the same arm gets hit twice. Bad luck, or fate's way of punishing me for having received so much help in the arena?

Rock comes in for a third swing, but I'm ready this time. It's all over in a second. The flail swerves toward my head and I duck down to avoid it. Rock's arms are now extended, completing the swing, and I find myself with a clear shot at his torso. Sharks, I hear my father telling me. They're all sharks. And then I thrust the trident upward.


	12. Part 1: Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Twelve**

After I deliver the fatal wound, and Rock screams – I'm fairly certain his death cry will haunt me for years to come – I stagger away from the bloody scene and collapse. Templesmith's voice booms over the loudspeaker, declaring me to be the winner of the Hunger Games. I'm sure that the women in Capitol are all crying, or cheering, or hugging each other when the announcement is made.

A hovercraft appears over me, and then the next few days become a blur. I float in and out of consciousness. At one point I wake up strapped to a table, and my left arm is encased in a huge white tube that's humming loudly.

When I'm lucid enough to really take in my situation, I realize that I'm back in the Training Center in my own bed. Hardly able to believe that this is all really happening, I turn my head toward the window, and there's Mags sitting on the loveseat, clacking away with her knitting needles.

"Mags," I croak.

She shuffles over holding a glass of water. I try to sit up, but she insists on pouring the water into my mouth while I'm still lying down. Apparently I'm recovered enough to be in my own bed – relatively speaking – but not so much that I'm actually allowed to move.

"Thank you," I say when I feel my voice is strong enough. She squeezes my right hand, which is lying on top of the blankets, and I swear I see tears roll down her cheeks. "Those gifts... how?"

"You have many admirers in the Capitol," Mags murmurs, and I understand very well why her voice is tinged with sadness and regret. Because I may have survived the Hunger Games, but now I have to deal with the consequences. "How do you feel?"

Considering the amount of pain my left arm was in, I'm pretty sure that's what she's referring to. "Good. Astonishingly so." I close my eyes and raise my left arm. "Is it hideous?" I ask jokingly.

"Open your eyes," Mags says, and when I do I see that the flesh is pink and healthy, with not a single scar to indicate what my arm has been through. If I had to guess, I'd say that the doctors have wiped all traces of the Games from my body.

"Can I get up?"

"Carefully," she replies, and with her help I manage to sit upright on the bed. My body is sore as all hell, but it's not nearly as bad as I feared. "You almost lost that arm," Mags adds. It doesn't surprise me. Rock didn't exactly give me a gentle tap with that spiked flail.

"Does the Capitol still love me, after that bloodbath at the end?" I ask, hoping against hope that the answer is no. But of course things can't work out that neatly, and Mags reluctantly nods. "Don't worry about it," I tell her. "I knew what I was getting myself into."

Since neither of us wants to talk about my future as a Capitol man-whore, we fall silent for a very long time. Eventually, Mags totters out of the room, and returns a few minutes later with something I thought I would never see again – a bowl of sugar cubes. She hands me one, and I eye it uncertainly. "Can I eat this? Shouldn't I be on some special diet?"

"Gruel and water, until the doctors say otherwise," Mags admits, then winks. "I won't tell if you don't."

"Cheers," I say, and pop the cube into my mouth. It's the best thing I've ever tasted.

After a few more minutes of silence, Mags says, "Gemma."

I don't want to talk about Gemma – not now, not ever – but Mags kept me alive in that arena, and I'll do pretty much anything for her after that. "What about her?"

"She was a lovely young woman," Mags says. I'm not sure where she's going with this, so I keep my mouth shut until she continues. "You may not have realized it, but that girl was madly in love with you."

"I know," I say flatly. "And now she's dead."

Mags touches my hand again. "I'm sorry," she says, and suddenly I'm crying again. Mags pulls me into her arms and I sob on her shoulder, getting her blouse all wet. When I regain control of myself I quickly draw back and avoid her eyes.

"It isn't showing weakness to cry," Mags tells me.

"I barely even knew Gemma," I say, frustrated by my newly fragile emotional state. I can't remember ever crying before this, not even at mother's funeral. Father hovered over me for months after that, worrying that my lack of tears might be a sign of some deeper, psychological scarring. "Why am I getting so worked up over a girl whose last name I don't even know?"

"Lane," Mags tells me, and it takes all my willpower to hold back another flood of tears. "The Hunger Games change us, Finnick. I may have relied on my looks, but that didn't stop me from burying a hatchet in my District mate's head when he came at me with a short sword. I see his face every night in my dreams, along with my husband, and children, and grandchildren."

I feel a pang of sorrow for Mags, who has lost more than I ever had in the first place. "They're all dead?"

Out of all possible reactions, the last I expect is a smile. "It will get better," she promises. "Gemma's death is still fresh. Calliope's as well." I gape at her, unable to figure out how this old woman understands me so well that she's able to read my thoughts. Mags gives me another gap-toothed grin. "Like I said, Finnick, I've been there. And I promise you that it will get better."

And when she says it, I almost believe her.

Four days later, the doctors pronounce me mentally and physically fit to enter the real world again. Germanicus and the triplets show up in the early morning, eager to wipe away whatever traces of the Hunger Games remain on my body. I let them, because I figure that if they leave any scars, they will only be a constant reminder of Gemma and Calliope, and of the Capitol's brutality. Not that I want to forget the last one, but I've already committed to waiting as long as it takes for the right opportunity to crush their decadent civilization, and that won't work if I'm constantly thirsting for vengeance.

Germanicus puts me in a flowing white shirt and pants. The shirt is nearly transparent, and showcases my newly restored chest to great effect. He decides to leave my hair in its usual tousled style. Apparently I was so popular in the Games that everyone in the Capitol – male and female both – are rushing to get the "Finnick cut".

When I step on stage and Caesar Flickerman shouts my name to his adoring crowd, I can see that at least half the faces in the audience have exact replicas of my hairstyle perched on their multi-coloured heads. Most decided to keep my particular shade of bronze, but a lot let their personal tastes weigh in, resulting in pink stripes, green polka dots, and one done in all the colours of the rainbow.

Caesar leads me to center stage, where the plush victor's chair has been set up for my convenience. "That was quite the ordeal," Caesar says to me, winking. "Although I think some of the ladies in Capitol may have tipped the balance in your favour."

I think he's just trying to make a joke, but he reminds me what I need to do. "Can I say something?" I ask, and Caesar looks confused but nods quickly to hide his momentary lapse.

I ignore the cameras, and instead look out to the crowd. Hundreds of faces stare up at me, riveted by every move I make. I address my speech to no one and everyone, because although I can't afford to single anyone out, nor can I let anyone feel slighted in any way.

"When I first came to Capitol, I was amazed by the sheer size of the place. Huge buildings towered above me, as if they were trying to somehow reach up and seize the sky itself. But when I stepped foot in that arena, I realized something profound." Here I let my voice soften into a seductive purr. "The soul of Capitol isn't in its buildings, its magnificent parks, the delicious feasts that go on day and night. What captivated me most about this wonderful new world was its people."

I let my gaze sweep the audience, making eye contact with everyone but never lingering more than a fraction of a second. Then I turn to the camera. "In Capitol I found a group of people who weren't just beautiful, and clever, and delightful, as everyone knows them to be. These are people who truly, deeply care for us. Why else would they take a lost boy from District 4, bolster him with their love and support, and then provide him with exactly the tools he needed to survive the arena and stand before you now?"

Every word I'm saying is a lie, of course. I hate the Capitol and everything it stands for. But if President Snow plans on selling my body to his quickly growing list of buyers, then I need to gain the upper hand. And if the women of Capitol don't just want my body, but actually think that they love me, I may be able to turn events to my advantage. You may have a new puppet, President Snow, I think, but you'll find I can manipulate your minions just as well as you.

I'm out of words now, so I beam at the camera and say, "From the depths of my heart and soul, people of Capitol, I thank you. And if I ever have the chance to repay you for your kindness, just say the word." I end the speech with one of my now-famous winks, and the audience explodes with applause and cheers. Several women shout declarations of love, which only disgusts me more, because I'm only fourteen and they clearly have no idea what real love means.

Flickerman eventually calms them down, and whoever is really running the show rolls the tape before the audience loses control again. The video is ostensibly a three hour long montage of the 65th Hunger Games, but my face pops up so often that I think the Capitol has already forgotten there were twenty-three other contestants. The camera turns to me now and then to get my reactions to the video, and I maintain a mask of amused indifference for the entire, torturous three hours.

"Now that you've won the Hunger Games, what will you do?" Caesar asks me when the video mercifully stops playing.

I go with my mysterious smile for this question. "Honestly, I don't know. Capitol has captured my heart in a way I never thought possible. It's going to be torture to be away from these wonderful people for so long."

Caesar pats me on the shoulder, apparently trying to comfort me. "Don't worry, Finnick, you'll be back every year!"

I turn to the camera and my lips slide into a seductive smirk. "I look forward to it."


	13. Part 1: Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Thirteen**

After the post-Games interview, there isn't much time for me to say goodbye to Germanicus and my prep team before Pompey is whisking me and my mentors off to the train station. Andromache and I exchange a few meaningless sentences, and then she goes off to her own cabin. I wonder what she does in there – probably glares at the mirror for hours at a time, trying to break it with the sheer ugliness of her personality.

Pompey is beside himself with joy that I've won the Games. He does seem to be genuinely pleased that I came back alive, although when I bring out my victor's crown he yanks it from my hands and starts babbling so cheerfully that I have to leave the room.

Mags is waiting for me in my compartment with a bowl of sugar cubes. I grab a handful and go to stand with her by the window. It's dark outside – we must be in the tunnel – but soon it turns to the factory landscape of District 1. "Are you excited to see your family?" she asks me.

"Yes," I say, and of course Mags notices the slight hesitation in my voice. "Mags, I've killed another human being. Many times. Some in what can probably be considered cold blood. I don't know what my family is expecting from me, but I can never go back to the way I was."

"They know that," she assures me. "But even if you came back missing both your legs and barely able to string two words together, they would still love you."

When the train pulls into the District 4 station a few hours later, Mags and I exit holding hands. She's my support system in case my family really doesn't recognize me. And after all that ridiculous flirting and posturing – not to mention the multiple murder counts – will father and Natare really welcome me with open arms?

But as I step onto the platform, still gripping Mags' withered hand tightly, I look through the sea of reporters and spot my father and sister. Natare sees me, and waves, and then I'm letting go of Mags, pushing through the crowd to get to my family. When I reach them, Natare launches herself into my arms, and father – not prone to emotional outbursts – throws his own arms around the both of us. Cameras flash in the background.

"I was so scared," Natare whimpers, and I stroke her braids soothingly.

"It's alright," I whisper to her. "I did exactly like you said. I made the Capitol fall in love with me, and in return they kept me alive. And now I'm back, and I won't ever have to leave you again."

Father pulls away and looks me square in the eye, as if to determine whether or not it's really his son who's come back to him. Whatever he sees must be good enough, because he says, "Finnick, I have never been prouder of you in my life."

If he knows what I will have to do in order to repay my kind Capitol sponsors for helping me through the Hunger Games, to keep him and Natare alive, I don't think he'd be smiling the way he is now. And I will not be the one to break it to him.

Mags toddles over. "This is Mags, my mentor," I tell Natare and father. Natare immediately grasps Mags' hands and demands to hear the story of the trident, and how Mags managed to give me such a perfect weapon. As Mags starts to explain – Natare clearly has no clue what she's saying – I step to the side and face father.

"Well," he says gravely. "You were chosen." At first I have no idea what he's talking about, but then I realize that he's gone back to the ritual we do before every Hunger Games.

"I was," I agree. "And I did whatever I had to in order to win. Because nothing was more important than coming home."

"How did you do that?" father asks.

"I used what I know. Ropes, knots, tridents, spears – whatever I had, and whatever I could make." But I add one last thing to the list, because I can't stop myself. "And whatever my admirers decided to provide."

Father must realize I'm hiding something from him, because his eyes narrow, but he doesn't press the issue. "And the other children, the tributes. What were they?"

"They were sharks," I say, but I elaborate, because how else can I do Gemma and Calliope justice? "Some of them. But you were wrong, father. Most of them were just scared little kids, trying to survive in a world gone mad. And I was one of them."

"And what did you do with them?"

My head hangs down. "I killed them."

If father is trying to destroy me, then he's doing a damn good job. But then he hugs me close and I realize he's trying to comfort me in his own, gruff way. "I saw how you watched out for your District mate, and that Gemma girl. You could have turned into one of those sharks, but you didn't."

"I still killed people," I say darkly.

Father shakes me by the shoulders and puts his mouth close to my ear so only I can hear him. "No, you didn't. Capitol did. And if you ever forget it again, I will disown you as my son." He turns and stalks off as if I've paid him some great insult. But warmth seeps through my body for the first time in days, because the guilt that has been plaguing me is finally starting to retreat.

Natare leaves Mags alone for a second and looks up at me anxiously. "What did father say?"

I smile. "He told me exactly what I needed to hear."

**END PART ONE**


	14. Part 2: Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Part Two: Decadent Delirium**

**Chapter One**

I wake up to cold seawater drenching my head. My first impulse is to seize the knife hidden under my pillow and lunge at the attacker, but I stop myself just in time. Natare stands over me, clutching an empty bucket and giggling madly. I relax my grip on the hilt and draw my hand out from under the pillow. Old habits die hard, especially ones you gain while engaged in a life-or-death gladiatorial killing spree like the Hunger Games.

Her laughing subsides abruptly when she realizes how close she came to being stabbed. "Sorry, Finnick," she says, voice laced with guilt. "I forgot."

She forgot what? That my time in the arena screwed me up so badly that I have to physically restrain myself from trying to kill my little sister? It isn't her fault and she knows it, but Natare being Natare, she acts like every time I wake up screaming in the middle of the night is somehow a failing on her part.

"It's fine," I tell her, and I force a smile to make my point. "Not your fault."

"No," Natare agrees, and she lets the bucket thunk down against her leg. "But I should have remembered not to wake you up like that."

When we were kids – back before the Hunger Games and the constant paranoia and the nightmares – Natare and I used to sleep in the same bed, because our parents were poor and two mattresses were all they could afford. If she woke up really excited about something, she would jump up and down on top of me until I woke up. While she giggled, I would pick her up, carry her out of the house, and dump her into the river a few dozen yards from our cottage.

But when she tried it the day after I came back from the Hunger Games – two months ago, now – I nearly suffocated her with my blanket until I realized who it was. I expected father to shout at me, or forbid me from going near my sister until I got control of myself, but instead he pulled Natare into his bedroom for two hours and shut the door behind him. I don't know what he told her in there, but after that she's kept her distance in the mornings.

Until now, apparently. Fighting back my seemingly ever-present guilt, I take Natare's hand and draw her up onto the bed beside me. Probably the best part of winning the Games is that I got to move my family into one of the mansions in the Victor's Village. Because if Natare were still sleeping beside me and not three storeys above me, I probably would have hurt her by now. Or worse.

"I thought that since today is, well, you know, you might have remembered how we always celebrate..." Natare says softly, looking down at our interlaced fingers. I seem to remember her holding onto a bucket, and see that she dropped it when she clambered onto the bed. "Finnick?" she asks tentatively.

I'm doing it again, I realize. Spacing out, lost in my thoughts, when people I love are trying to talk to me. I never used to have this problem, but ever since the Games... "What? Sorry, Natare, I just have trouble focusing sometimes."

She knows this, and she nods. As if to make up for my lack of attention, she starts talking in a really loud and excited voice so it's harder for me to get distracted. "It's your birthday, Finnick! You remember how every year I would dump a bucket of water on you, to get revenge on you because on every one of _my _birthdays you toss me in the river?"

I do remember now, and I feel like a complete idiot. Of course she'd forget father's lecture on a day like today and enact our annual ritual, and I should have remembered and prepared for it. But I didn't, because I can barely get myself to do anything these days, and now Natare's paying the price.

"I forgot," I tell her honestly. "Nat, this is all my fault. I'm so sorry."

Natare gives me this long, searching look, as if she's trying to read my mind. Then she suddenly beams at me and hops off the bed, trying to tug me along with her. Since I've got five years and about a hundred pounds on her, my sister shouldn't be able to get me to budge. But I help her pull me up, because I feel horrible about nearly stabbing her and I'm ready to make up for it any way that I can.

"I know how we can fix this," Natare tells me seriously. "The problem with you, Finnick, is that you're just no fun anymore."

Ouch. That stings. And the more I think about it, she's right. I used to have a vast circle of friends who gravitated around me like my own personal solar system – not just because of my good looks, which are considerable, but my personality as well. As I think about it, I can trace the beginning of my solitude and the end of my light-hearted outlook on life to, sure enough, the Hunger Games.

"That's harsh," I tell her with a pout, and she laughs.

"It's true! But I think we both know why, and I also think I know how to solve your little melancholy issue."

I arch an eyebrow at Natare. "Little melancholy issue? Since when did you become a psychiatrist? And a patronizing one at that?"

Natare is still gripping my hands in her own, and she begins to pull me toward the door. "Where are we going?" I ask.

"Where do you think?" she says with a cheeky grin. "There's no river near the Victor's Village, but I figure the sea should do just as well for your birthday dunking."

I pull me hands out of her grasp. "Dunking? I don't think so, Natare!" My sister has a way of lightening my mood, and she's doing it now. I dance away from her, and she lunges after me with a peal of laughter.

"It's your birthday!" she shouts, just missing my legs as I do a quick sidestep and position myself between her and the door.

"And I already got my present," I grin. "If you want someone to be thrown in the sea, you'll just have to wait for your own birthday!" Natare never closed my bedroom door when she snuck in, so I dash through it and bolt for the stairs. I hear her laughing as she hurries after me in her frilly blue nightgown and slippers.

I take the carpeted staircase two steps at a time, and nearly crash into father at the base of the stairs. "Sorry," I laugh, twisting around him. I brush his elbow with my own, and he nearly drops his cup of coffee. Before he can start into a lecture, Natare comes barrelling straight at him, and he has no choice but to leap out of the way as we race through the foyer and out into the front yard.

Since I have every intention of letting Natare push me into the sea – my personal penance for nearly stabbing her – I use my mental map to plot a route to the boardwalk. It takes us down the main boulevard of the Victor's Village, lined by three-story mansions identical to our own on both sides, across a field of wildflowers, through the market, and finally to the pier. Natare doggedly pursues me the entire way, and either doesn't notice or ignores the stares she gets from onlookers because of her attire.

Finally we hit the wooden boardwalk, and now we're racing past hundreds of little wooden fishing boats that are making ready to head out for another day's labour. My victor's pension from the Games mean that father and Natare will never have to work as long as I live, but father still keeps his boat at the docks so he can sail whenever he wants. And since sailing is in our blood, and has been for generations, he usually staggers into the house at dusk with a sack of fish over his shoulder and a weary but pleased look on his face.

Natare corners me at the end of the pier, where I have oh-so-foolishly let myself run into a dead end. Seeing that I have nowhere to go, she shrieks a battle cry and throws herself at my chest. We are both carried off the edge of the boardwalk, and we hit the water hugging and laughing. The cool sea water envelopes me, and I relish in the feeling of weightless freedom.

Then Natare's hand tugs at my own, and I obligingly head for the surface, kicking extra hard so I shoot out of the water chest high like a whale surfacing. Natare giggles and claps her hands delightedly, using her legs to keep herself afloat, and for a blissful minute I am a little kid again, swimming and playing with my sister in the welcoming embrace of the sea.

Eventually Natare's teeth start to chatter from the cold, so we swim around to the ladder and clamber up onto the boardwalk. The docks are swarming with fishermen and their families preparing to set sail, and Natare and I attract a lot of stares. Natare because she's a soaking wet ten year old girl in a nightdress, and me because I'm Finnick Odair, Hunger Games victor and District 4 sex symbol. For some reason, people can't get enough of my tousled bronze hair, angel face, sea green eyes, and sculpted body. I really wish they would, because being the center of attention is exactly what got me into this mess in the first place.

Natare suggests we head back to the house before some concerned citizen decides to report us to the Peacekeepers for public indecency. Not that this would do much – victors can get away with almost anything – but it might get back to father, and he would not be impressed with our antics. Although he might notice when we stumble in the house, soaking wet. I agree, and Natare chats happily about all the things she has planned for my birthday as we return to Victor's Village.

Father gives me a disapproving look as we enter, but he doesn't confront me directly. I think that, after contriving to keep myself alive in an arena filled with twenty-three kids trying to kill me, he's decided I can make my own decisions without his supervision. I exercise this right by announcing that I intend to take a shower, and then fleeing upstairs.

The shower is warm and soothing against my skin. I let the water pour over my head and wash away the worry and anger. Worry because I still haven't told my family the real reason I wake up screaming every night, and anger because my fate is sealed and I have no way of getting revenge on the people who sealed it in the first place. And every time I get happy and forget these feelings, they come back and hit me twice as hard when I least expect it.

I hear someone knocking on the bathroom door, and then Natare's voice shouting, "Come on, Finnick, you promised you'd take me to the coral reefs on your birthday!" I don't remember promising this, but Natare's memories are more reliable than mine these days.

"Give me a second!" I holler back. Shutting off the water, I towel myself down, brush out my damp hair, throw on a shirt and pants, and open up the door. Natare takes my hand and tugs me impatiently back downstairs, where father has prepared fish fry for breakfast. It's my favourite, and I thank him with a smile and a nod when he hands me a plate.

I turn to the kitchen table and am about to sit down when I realize we aren't alone. Two girls are sitting at the far side in front of the window that overlooks the garden. I recognize Mara Kell, the girl I comforted a few months ago before the Reaping, because she came by when I got back from the Games and she and Natare have become good friends. But the other girl is a mystery – long brown hair, light blue eyes, and an intriguing quirk to her lips that makes her look like she's laughing inwardly at some joke known only to her.

"Natare?" I say, nudging my sister's hip. She nearly drops her plate of fry, and glowers at me.

"What?"

"I know Mara. Who's the other girl?"

Natare glances around me, then rolls her eyes. "Honestly, Finnick, you have to pay more attention. She's been over a couple of times now – you must have heard us talking while you were brooding up in your room. She's a friend of Mara's from school."

If she's Mara's age – thirteen – it would explain why I don't know her, because she would have been at least two years below me at school. But I'm sure I know her from somewhere, so I ask Natare, "What's her name?"

My sister shakes her head, as if I'm impossibly hopeless. "You know her because her parents died in that hurricane last year," she hisses at me. "We had to attend the mass funeral, remember?"

That's where I know her from. She was the only one whose eyes were completely dry, which threw me when I saw it, until I realized her fingers were almost white because they were clutching her handbag so tightly, staring at the coffin as if it were her inside it and not her parents.

"Her name is Annie," Natare adds, apparently remembering my original question. "Annie Cresta."


	15. Part 2: Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Two**

Over the next few months, I gradually start to regain a semblance of my former self. Mags, a sweet old lady who mentored me during the Games and is now as good as family, pulls father aside for a long chat during one of her visits, and the next thing I know father is telling me that I have to go back to school.

The thought is humorous to me, because after seeing me murder five children on national television, I doubt any of my future school mates will want to get within fifty feet of me. Well, maybe the girls would, but I've noticed that girls often do unwise things when there's a cute guy involved. But father insists, pointing out that I do nothing with my time anyway, so why not do the same thing except in a classroom? So I dig out my blue and white uniform from the back of my closet, grab a pencil and notebook, and go to school.

Before the Games, father, Natare and I lived in a little cottage at the northern end of District 4. When I won, we moved into Victor's Village, which is a housing complex located in the largest town of the district, which also features the Justice building. It's a half hour walk south of my home village. I consider enrolling back in my old school, so I can be with my friends, but I haven't seen them in several months and, quite frankly, I don't think they would recognize the person I've become. They would probably also pester me with questions about the arena, and I devote most of my waking hours to trying to forget it ever happened.

I head down to the local schoolhouse – a two story brick building by the seashore – and go to register at the main office. The secretary doesn't notice me, as she's reading a piece of paper in a bored but concentrated way, so I walk up to her and clear my throat pointedly. Her reaction is priceless.

"You... you're Finnick Odair!" she gasps, hands flying to her mouth. Her eyes get really big as she stares into my own, like she's in some kind of a trance. This goes on for three full minutes, until I tire of my game and clear my throat again.

"I'd like to register for class, if it isn't too much trouble," I say, smirking slightly. It feels good to smile, even if it happens to be at someone else's expense.

Then the secretary is out of her chair and hugging me so tightly I think she might have cracked one of my ribs. "You poor dear," she gushes. "All those horrible things they made you do in the arena... and yet here you are, putting on a brave face like you're just another normal boy!"

I prefer the days when women would fawn over me because of my incredible good looks. That was something I understood, and could take advantage of if necessary. But this... I'm sure the girls my age are still thinking of jumping my bones, but now it's tinged with pity, and pity I don't know how to deal with.

"Honestly, I just want to register," I tell her, and when she doesn't let go I use some of those muscles that kept me alive in the arena to push her off me.

She tilts her head to the side, apparently considering something of great importance. "You know," she says, "I have a daughter your age. Serenity. She's very sweet, kind-hearted, and quite pretty. Maybe you'd like to—"

I realize at this point that I'm going to have to ignore father's wish that I return to school. It's not that I dislike normal people all of a sudden, but I'm just not one of them anymore. I can't go back to the way it was, even if I wanted to. I'll find other ways to interact with the villagers, but it won't be through school.

"Thanks," I tell her, "but the Hunger Games were so traumatic that I'm really not up to making new friends at the moment." I give her my best puppy eyes to sell the story.

The arena may have changed me, but I still retain my ability to manipulate people. When combined with my appearance – which Mara, Annie, and Natare have agreed is best defined as "heart-stoppingly, breath-takingly, un-freaking-believably gorgeous" – and my smile, I can make people think and even do pretty much anything I want, within reason.

Sure enough, the secretary eats up my sob story eagerly and ends up hugging me again. "Don't worry, sweetheart, you'll be right as rain before you know it!" she assures me. Then she raids the principal's office, and I walk away with a small but expensive box of salt-water toffee and a promise from the secretary that I can come by her house any time I need a shoulder to cry on. She winks and says she'd love to get to know me better. I bet you would, I think, and I hurry out of there before she can elaborate and possibly scar me for life.

Father tries to give me grief over my failed attempt at public schooling, but after I ignore him for three days straight he gives up and eats the rest of my toffee.

My days begin to take on a steady pattern, and as order is restored to my life, the nightmares start to come less frequently. Mags is my companion during the day, when father is out fishing and Natare is gone to school. We mostly talk, about Mags and her surprisingly sordid past – it turns out she actually left her fiancée at the altar for her now-deceased husband – or about the happenings in District 4, or even about me and my family. The one topic we dutifully skirt around, though, is the one I bring up on a cloudy autumn morning because I can't bear to avoid it anymore.

We're sitting in the living room, drinking coffee and listening to some instrumental song off an old music player Mags brought back from the Capitol years ago. A bowl of sugar cubes sits between us, our shared passion, and we munch on them as we listen. When the song ends, I put down my cup and segue into the delicate subject with absolutely zero subtlety.

"So," I say, clapping my hands together. "My future as a Capitol man-whore."

Mags laughs despite herself. "At least you've got a good attitude." Then she gets serious. "So, percentage-wise, how many of your nightmares are about the arena, how many are about your unenviable future, and how many are about what Snow will do to your family if you don't do everything he asks of you?"

She's referring to the thing that's been plaguing me since I got back from the Games – namely, that the more attractive victors are co-erced by President Snow into letting him sell their bodies to prominent Capitol citizens in return for him not killing off everyone they love. And considering I'm hands down the best looking victor to ever come out of the Games, every lady in Capitol is going to want her night of passion with yours truly. I'm safe until I'm sixteen, but then it's open season on Finnick Odair.

I consider Mags' question. "40-10-50." I assume from her nod that this is more or less what she expected. Because while the Games were undeniably the most horrible, life-threatening, heart-wrenching, soul-shattering experience I've ever gone through, I wouldn't be nearly this messed up in the aftermath if that was the only thing plaguing me. For some reason, killing a kid with my own two hands just ranks lower on the trauma scale than having to prostitute myself in the Capitol so my family doesn't get murdered by our insane, dictatorial government.

"You shouldn't dwell on it," Mags advises me.

"Will it be as bad as I think?"

She frowns, and for a minute she's gone, lost in thought. Then she snaps back to the present and wraps her wrinkled hands around my own. "Finnick," she says. "It will be worse. Because even if the people of Capitol aren't as perverse and depraved as seem, and even if you actually end up liking one or two of them, you'll still be a slave. And that's not something that a strong-willed person like you is going to be able to handle, except you'll have to, because it's the only way you can keep your family safe."

Probably the best thing about Mags is that she always tells it to me straight. She may look like my grandmother, but she treats me like a confidant and an equal.

"But," she adds, "if you spend your days depressed and withdrawn, you're just letting the Capitol win. You'll only have to act the Capitol heartthrob a few weeks a year. The rest of your time you can spend with your family, and if you stop taking pleasure in that, then what's the point of everything?"

I smile. "Thanks, Mags."

The next day, Natare is pulling on her sandals to go hang out with Mara and Annie, and I ask her if I can come along. Her mouth drops open, and she says carefully, "You don't have to Finnick, we all know that you need your space to... you know..."

"I had a talk with Mags," I tell her. "And she pointed out some stuff. Not the least of which being that I've been horrible company since I got back. And that's going to stop, starting now. So, what are we doing today?"

Natare beams at me and grabs my hand. "We were going to go spice market and see what the deep sea fishers brought in. Mara says that there's a rumour going around that they got a unicorn!"

"Unicorns don't exist," I tell her, as I let her tug me outside. "And they don't live in the sea."

She sticks her tongue out at me, and I start to feel just a bit better. Not enough to cure me completely, but it's a start.


	16. Part 2: Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Three**

On the morning of the beginning of my victory tour, Annie and Mara stop by to wish me luck. Every year, exactly halfway between the last Hunger Games and the next, the most recent victor has to go around to each district, make speeches, smile for the cameras, and pretend like they haven't been completely devastated by the very thing they're now celebrating. It ends off in the Capitol, where I'm sure I'll be meeting a couple of my most prominent sponsors face to face, so I need to keep myself handsome, effortlessly charming, and alert at all times.

Germanicus, my stylist from the Games, breaks into my house at dawn, accompanied by his triplet assistants Livia, Lorenna, and Lavia. He's middle-aged and pompous, utterly convinced that every word he speaks is genius, every outfit he designs pure art. The triplets are far better company, and I shoot them a relieved smile when they make Germanicus leave my bedroom so they can prep me for the tour.

Three hours of skin-scrubs, body polishing and hair trimming later, the triplets pronounce me fit to be seen in public again. "Not that you weren't before," Livia assures me.

"It's just that you give us so much raw perfection to work with," Loreena adds.

"So we want to make sure we're really doing you justice," Lavia finishes.

I examine myself in the mirror, striking a pose for the triplets' benefit. They laugh and clap their hands happily, so I do it again. I'm completely naked, of course, but the triplets think of me less as a human being, and more of an animated sculpture that they get to play beauty school with.

It's at this point that Mara, Annie, and Natare walk into the room.

"Hi Finnick!" Natare chirps, opening the door and stepping aside so Mara and Annie can walk past her. Then she realizes I'm standing in front of a full-length mirror, nude, posing like an underwear model, and surrounded by three giggling ladies. "Um..." she blinks.

Mara and Annie's eyebrows shoot skyward. I'm thankful that I'm at least facing away from them so they can't see my more... private areas. Then I realize that they can see everything in the mirror's reflection anyway.

I turn to them with a flourish and spread my arms wide. "Like what you see?" I ask in my most seductive voice. Annie and Mara stare at me wide-eyed, modesty urging them to turn away but natural curiosity – and probably a bit of awe –keeping them frozen in place. I sound like I'm bragging about my body, but honestly, I've been hit on by enough women to know that I'm one fine-looking hunk of man-flesh.

Germanicus comes in behind them, gives me a once-over, and says, "Yummy."

Annie and Mara flush beet red and flee. Natare shoots me an annoyed look and hurries after them, although I can tell that she's secretly amused.

Since Mags is my mentor, she accompanies me on the victory tour. We board the high speed train, which is one of my only good memories of the Games, and head off for District 12 where we'll start the tour. Now that I'm not going off to my impending death, I find the train ride a lot more enjoyable, and Mags and I amuse ourselves by seeing how many female members of the train's staff I can get to proposition me before we get to 12. The count is at seven when we pull in to the coal district's dingy station, which, considering there are only ten women aboard, I count as success.

Since people in the districts aren't allowed to travel between districts unless they are either very rich or are on official business, I've never been outside 4. District 12 is as different as I could possibly imagine; where we have quaint little shacks nestled up against the endless sea shore, they have dingy huts clustered around coal mines and warehouses, and everything is covered in a layer of coal dust.

In every district they hold a ceremony in the main square, where the mayor congratulates me for winning and then I'm supposed to give a speech praising the glory of Panem and the Capitol. The people of 12 stare up at me with interest as I give my speech, but I know it isn't my words they're paying attention to. At one point, one of the little girls grabs her mother's arm and loudly whispers, "Mama, he's soooo pretty!"

I have to laugh at that, and soon the entire crowd is chuckling. I was half-worried that I would be a pariah because I was part of the Games that killed two of their children, but they don't seem to hold it against me. In fact, maybe laughing is a way of telling off the Capitol, because this is supposed to be a somewhat-solemn occasion, and frivolity probably isn't in the script. Considering the victor they're parading around is me, though, they'll realize pretty soon that there will have to be some adjustments.

Caught up in the mood, I ignore the mayor's gestures to hand him back the microphone and address the audience with a smile. "When I was told about the victory tour, I have to admit that I thought it was kind of a stupid idea," I say easily, and a few people chuckle. "The Hunger Games are required watching, after all. As if the whole country doesn't know that Finnick Odair won!" Here I strike a pose, and my audience applaud.

The mayor is now surrounded by three Peacekeepers, and they appear to be having a discussion about me. I shoot the mayor a wink, and he waves his white-clad Capitol guards away. He probably thinks I'm just pursuing my campaign to make every woman in the known world fall madly in love with me.

What am I doing, though? Nothing revolutionary, because then President Snow would kill Natare and father for sure. But these people look so utterly downtrodden that I have this need to brighten their lives just a little.

"This place," I continue, gesturing around me. "It was such a shock coming here, because District 4 is like a whole other world. There's always water, no matter what direction you look, and sometimes it gets so hot in the summer that we all just give up work for the day and go sun-tan on the beach."

"Wish we had a beach!" a guy my age hollers, and I laugh.

"You should see Capitol," I say. "There's this one building where they've built an artificial beach, except the waves are candy floss pink and the sand is lime green." I haven't seen the place myself, of course, but Mags tells me I have to convince one of my future benefactors to take me there. "But I digress," I add, getting back on track. "What I'm trying to say here is that even though I may come from across the country, the way you've all welcomed me into your home makes me feel like I belong here. Thank you so much for everything."

As the crowd bursts out into applause – I'm a very good actor, and I really do feel gratitude to this people, because they're going to starve so I can have a feast tonight – I spot one man who isn't clapping. He's close to the stage, next to the families of the two dead tributes, and I vaguely recall Mags telling me about him – the only living District 12 victor, Haymitch Abernathy.

I direct my last words to him, catching his gray eyes with my own. "If there's ever anything I can do to repay you kind people for what you've done, you need only say the word."

Haymitch ignores me throughout the feast that we subsequently attend in the Justice building. I don't even try to catch his eye again, because that would be as good as giving away the fact that I suddenly, desperately want to meet him. Mags said that he was the first one President Snow tried to sell out to the highest bidder, but because his family was all dead, Snow had no leverage against him.

We're scheduled to stay the night in the Justice building before heading out for District 11 the next morning, so I walk Mags up to her room, kiss her on the cheek, and say goodnight. When I get to my designated room, I see that the door's slightly ajar.

"I didn't know if you'd come," I say as I step into the room, shutting the door behind me. Haymitch is sitting on my bed, a bottle of liquor in one hand and a bored expression on his face.

"Well, after that little stunt of yours this afternoon, what else was I supposed to do?" Haymitch drawls. He's only in his thirties, but he's gone to seed after years of drinking and, if my experience is anything to go by, bad memories.

Since getting to the point is one of the things I do best, I say, "How can you stand it?"

Haymitch's eyebrows arch. "Stand what, pretty-boy?"

I cross my arms and lean against the wall, refusing to play his little game of insults. "Mags told me about you."

He laughs harshly. "Did she now? What did she say? That I'm a drunken old fool who can barely stand through a half-hour public event without falling over or heaving my guts out?"

"She said that you were slated for the same fate as me, except Snow killed off your family when you refused, and so he had nothing on you."

For once, I catch Haymitch off-guard. "I wasn't expecting that," he admits. "And Snow didn't kill my family for refusing to be his slave. I pulled a stunt in the arena with a force field that he didn't approve of. But the end result was the same. What I want to know, though, is how you found out."

I smile grimly. "Mags thought I deserved to know what I was signing myself up for before I went into the arena."

He sizes me up, re-evaluating my worth. "And you still tried to win, even knowing what would happen to you?"

"I don't believe in taking the easy way out."

"I can respect that," he says, then falls suddenly silent. "What did you really want to talk to me about?"

His question throws me. I don't know what I want from him. Advice, maybe, to help me survive the next few years? Some personal tales of woe to remind me that I'm not the only one suffering? But the word suffering strikes a chord in me, and suddenly I know the answer to his question.

"When I was in the arena, I couldn't help but wonder what kind of sick, twisted government would destroy the lives of twenty-four children just to remind us about a revolution that happened 75 years ago," I say.

"Twenty-four?" Haymitch says, eyebrows going up again. "Only twenty-three kids die, Odair. One survives. Gets to live the rest of their life carefree and richer than sin."

"Not much of a life," I say casually, "if you have to spend it in regret."

"Regret? Regret for what? Killing kids who were trying their damndest to stop your heart?"

All this dancing around the subject is getting old, so I drop my voice down to a whisper and say, "I hate the Capitol and I want them dead. I have no idea if you feel the same way, or even give a damn about anyone besides yourself, but I figured that if there was anyone out there who felt the same way as me, it might be you."

Haymitch stiffens and his face goes white. "If you're going to go around saying things like that," he hisses, "you'd better mean them."

I give him a dangerous smile. "Oh, I mean them. Ask me in a few more years, and I'll have a numbered list for you detailing all the ways I intend to make the Capitol pay for the horrors they've brought down on the districts."

Suddenly Haymitch staggers over to the door, slamming his bottle into my hands as he passes me. He peers through the peephole for a long second, and then sags in relief. "I can't say anything right now," he says carefully. "But if I ever come across any... opportunities that might interest you, I'll let you know."

That's good enough for me. I nod. "Thank you," I say.

"For what?" Haymitch says wryly, and grabs his bottle back. "I haven't done anything."

"Yet."

He gives me a nod, and leaves. I shed my clothes and get into the shower, but for once I don't stand under the warm water for ages as my cares wash away down the drain. There is a rebellion, and Haymitch is part of it. It's probably only in the early stages, and will likely take decades before it ever comes to anything, but I have Haymitch's promise. When people finally do rise up and overthrow the Capitol, I will be there to help them every step of the way.

With this comforting thought in mind, I lie down on my hard bed and close my eyes. For the first time in months, sleep comes easily, and I drift away, thoughts of the Capitol burning to the ground carrying me into dreamland.


	17. Part 2: Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Four**

The victory tour continues without a hitch. After my impromptu speech in District 12, Pompey – my walking personal planner – informs me that the viewer response was very favourable, and I should do something similar in every district. I make a big deal out of not wanting to be told what to do, and Pompey ends up bribing me with the promise that my words won't be censored in any way to convince me to do something I had planned on doing all along.

Each district is a whirl of speeches and parties and puffed up Capitol officials who blather on about local policy for half an hour at a time while I smile and nod and slowly die of boredom. I also get to meet the mentors and other victors of each district, which is really interesting to see because they all deal with their Hunger Games experience differently. Some, like the morphlings I meet in district 6, have turned to drugs to escape reality. Others, like Chaff from district 11, are outgoing and jovial to the extreme – but I'd bet my fishing boat he's as messed up as the rest of us. And the victors from 1 and 2, unsurprisingly, act as normal and rational as people who willingly chose to enter a gladiatorial death match can be.

I have a very interesting encounter with a girl named Cashmere in District 1. She won the year before me, and her brother Gloss was the victor the year before her. They're actually fraternal twins, and are both 18, blonde, and utterly obsessed with themselves. Cashmere bats her eyelashes at me all through dinner, and when Pompey announces it's time for us to go to bed, she follows me to my room.

I'm pretty sure I know what's on her mind and, sure enough, as soon as I pass through the door she slams it shut, throws her arms around my neck, shoves me up against the wall, and thrusts her tongue into my mouth.

This is not the first time I've kissed a girl – or, actually, the first time an older woman has thrown herself at me – but Cashmere takes me by surprise. My mother brought me up to be a gentleman, so usually I extricate myself from any amorous situations before they get too hot and heavy.

But Cashmere is insanely hot, and I'm a fifteen year old male with raging hormones. She gets me onto the bed and out of my shirt – she's lost hers as well at some point – before it occurs to me that I know absolutely nothing about her. Most guys probably wouldn't care, with a girl like Cashmere writhing on top of them, but I'm annoyingly sentimental like that.

"Hang on," I gasp. She seals her lips against mine again to shut me up.

So I grab her shoulders and push her away. "Cashmere," I insist. "Wait."

She gives me an irritated look, pushing her dishevelled blonde curls away from her face. "What's the problem?" Cashmere snaps. "We're both hot and horny. This isn't exactly rocket science, Odair."

I have to admit she's got a point. But I kind of imagined my first time to be more... well, intimate. "I've never..." I start to say, and her blue eyes widen slightly.

"Really?" Cashmere says, and she pulls away of her own accord now. "You're so... I just assumed, you know?" She peers closer at me. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen," I say.

"Ahh," she says, like that explains everything. Then, with absolutely zero subtlety, she goes, "So no one's talked to you yet about... um..."

"I know about it," I assure her, pretty sure she's talking about the secret Capitol victor sex trade.

Her uncertainty abruptly vanishes. "Well," she says softly, leaning back towards me, "who would you rather lose it to? Some purple-haired, middle-aged housewife in the Capitol, or me?"

There are probably fifty girls back home who would leap into my bed in an instant if I asked them. But something about Cashmere draws me to her – maybe because she's a fellow victor, or because despite her arrogance she, too, has suffered at the hands of the Capitol, however willingly it started.

Mind made up, I shift my weight and flip us both over, so I'm on top of her. "You," I say.

Next day on the high speed train that will take us to the Capitol, Mags walks into my room and finds me sitting on my bed, staring out the window as scenery flashes past. "What are you thinking about?" she asks, handing me a bowl of sugar cubes.

"Where do you even find these?" I ask her, taking one. "Especially in District 4 – I've never seen a single merchant selling these."

Mags gives me a gap-toothed grin. "I know a man."

"Cryptic," I smile.

"Not as much as you," she counters. "It's two o'clock, and you haven't left your room since we boarded. You never miss lunch. What's going on in your head, Finnick?"

Losing my virginity to Cashmere isn't something I had considered discussing with Mags, but why shouldn't I? She's told me a few of her raunchier tales, and after helping me survive the Hunger Games six months ago, we're about as close as two people can be.

"How was she?" Mags asks, eyes twinkling.

I gape at her. "How did you know?"

She cackles at my bewildered expression. "I saw her follow you into your room."

"It was... strange," I admit, looking down at my hands. "Good, don't get me wrong. Incredibly good. But Cashmere just isn't who I pictured being with for that first time, you know?"

"I know," Mags agrees. "Probably a good thing you did it, too. The women you'll be visiting in the Capitol will expect you to have certain skills that you only get through practice."

"Mags, are you giving me free rein to seduce and bed all the girls back home that I want, so I can practice my sexual technique?" I tease her.

She laughs, and winks, and any doubts I had about my evening of passion fade.

When the train pulls into Capitol, Pompey herds us into one of the multi-coloured skyscrapers. We are given rooms on the second floor, and Mags disappears into her room while Germanicus and the triplets prep me for tonight's feast. The Capitol's latest obsession, Lorenna explains to me, is my now-famous sea green eyes. So Germanicus decides to pay my eyes an homage.

"But they're my eyes," I say, pointing at them in case Germanicus has somehow missed them. "Why would I wear an outfit that's paying an homage to myself?"

"Philistine!" Germanicus accuses, wiggling a measuring tape in my face. "You have no idea of the complexities of my masterpiece!"

His masterpiece turns out to be a white shirt and black dress pants, which I actually quite like, until he shows me the jacket I'll be wearing over top. It's black like the pants, but completely covered with large, sequined eyes the exact colour of my own. If I find it creepy to turn in front of the mirror and see my own coat watching me, I can't imagine how the Capitol people will react. What am I saying? They'll probably love it.

The second I step into the banquet hall, I'm surrounded by the Capitol's top tier of society. If I had any illusions about my status here, one lady with spiky silver hair quickly dispels them by leaning to her friend and saying a bit too loudly, "I wonder what I'd have to do to get him for a night."

Disgusting, I think. But Mags toddles over to me soon and drags me away from my admirers, which I'm incredibly thankful for. We end up by one of the crowded buffet tables, and as I slurp down some calamari, Mags leans in close and says, "Delightful, aren't they?"

I laugh loudly, and everyone's head within twenty feet of me turns. "Wish I wasn't so damned interesting," I mutter.

Mags pokes my stomach. "Put on enough weight and they'll lost interest."

"Yes," I agree, pouting, "but then I won't be pretty anymore."

Mags turns and surveys the dance floor. "You should go dance. Young people need to look lively so we old folks can remember what fun we used to have."

I quirk an eyebrow at my old mentor. "I have no interest in touching any of these people, let alone dancing with them."

She grabs my arm and leans in again. "You're thinking about this the wrong way. These people are mindless sheep, but having friends in high places has never hurt anyone." Mags winks at me, then wanders off into the crowd.

My first thought is Haymitch and the rebellion he may or may not be helping to plan. It occurs to me that if I have to sleep with half the women in Capitol anyway, maybe I can get something useful out of it. I don't know how much use money will be, but information – now that's something a proto-rebellion could use.

I turn to the nearest woman, a surprisingly pretty lady in her early thirties – although with the gold tattoos covering every inch of her skin, it's hard to tell – and say, "Care to dance?"

She gets all giggly, like a pre-teen girl getting asked out for the first time, and breathes, "Would I ever."

"I only know dances from home," I admit, then add in my seductive voice, "Unless you'd care to teach me something new."

Her eyes go wide with desire. "Very much so, Mister Odair."

I take her hand and draw her out onto the dance floor. "Finnick," I say, and she's putty in my hands.

The rest of the night is the same pattern, like shampooing my hair – rinse, wash, repeat. Introduce myself to woman – any woman, really, because they all can't seem to keep their eyes off me – dance with her, excuse myself, and find the next willing lady. And they're all willing. It astonishes me that women twenty or thirty years older than me are so eager to dance with a fifteen year old, but that's the Capitol for you.

As I'm dancing with a sharp-tongued and surprisingly interesting lady named Madeline, I spot a face in the crowd that I'd never have expected to find in Capitol. It's Mikael, the only male District 4 victor besides myself, who has been missing for over a year. But here he is, in the Capitol, at a party in my honour, eating a rabbit leg and chatting amiably with Seneca Crane, the Head Gamemaker.

"I think I see someone I know," I tell Madeline. "Can we finish our dance later?"

"I bet you say that to all the girls," Madeline snorts, but she shrugs and lets me go. I actually quite like her, which I never thought I could say about someone from the Capitol. But they are still people, after all – there has to be one or two of them worth knowing.

I flash her an appreciative smile, and then make a beeline for Mikael. He's in his forties, well-built and brown-haired, although his skin is paler than I remember it from the vids – guess he hasn't seen much sun exposure wherever he's been for the past eighteen months.

Seneca Crane sees me coming – observant, like a Gamemaker should be – and nudges Mikael. When I arrive a few seconds later, Mikael turns to me with a wide smile and slaps me on the back. "Nice jacket," he says, with just enough sarcasm to make it sound like an insult.

I immediately dislike him. "Finnick Odair," I say, offering him my hand. He shakes it a touch too daintily for someone from the districts – he's been in Capitol too long. "We missed you in the last Hunger Games," I say pointedly.

Mikael rubs his neck. "Yeah, I guess I would have been your mentor, eh, kid? Sorry about that – Seneca had me working on a little project of his."

Apparently it's not a secret project, because Crane gives a jovial laugh. "Mikael came to me at the last Games and expressed an interest in Gamemaking," he tells me. "I'm always eager to share my work with a fellow enthusiast, so I invited him to stick around for a few months and give me his thoughts." Crane winks. "Your friend here has quite the eye for detail."

I suddenly wonder if Mikael had a hand in creating my arena. He seems like the kind of man who would set wolf/howler monkey mutt hybrids on innocent children. "How nice for you," I say. "I hope you come back soon, though. The male tributes need someone they can look up to."

"You'll have him back by the next Games," Crane promises me. "Can't have Mikael shirking his duties!"

"Wouldn't want that," Mikael says too cheerfully to be real, and then he and Crane start laughing boisterously. Since they're occupied, I shake my head and head off to find Mags. I think that maybe District 4 would be better off without a man who's more concerned with sucking up to the Head Gamemaker than bothering to show up to try and stop his tribute from being slaughtered in the arena.

I find Mags over by the champagne table this time. She takes a small sip, grimaces, and pours the rest into a big bowl of punch. "Nice," I say as I come up beside her.

Mags glances toward Mikael and Crane. "I see you've met our wayward associate."

"Delightful, isn't he?" I say, mimicking her words from earlier.

"Brat," she laughs.

Pompey runs up to us a second later, looking harassed. "We're supposed to leave in ten minutes, but I had too much wine and fell asleep in the coat room and now we're going to miss the train and—"

Mags and I exchange an amused look, and then we set about calming down our foolish but well-meaning tour director.


	18. Part 2: Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Five**

It barely seems like any time passes before the next Hunger Games loom on the horizon. When I get back from the victory tour, I settle back into my old lifestyle, but with one major change. Whenever Natare, Mara, and Annie aren't in class I am with them, doing whatever it is that young people with free time and not a care in the world do. Since I am hanging out with three pre-teen girls, we inevitably end up doing stuff that doesn't particularly interest me – one entire afternoon is spent at a hair salon that Natare treats her friends to. But these three girls are the only people under the age of 70 who I can just be myself with, and I don't really care what we do as long as it's with them.

At first Mara and Annie are just "Natare's friends" in my head, because I don't know much about them. Well, I do know Mara a bit – we had a bonding moment last Reaping day – but Annie is a total mystery. But as the months roll past, and I'm inundated every day with their tales of friends, school, guardians, and boys – they are obsessed with boys – I gradually get to know them.

Mara keeps her long black hair braided in a thick braid that coils around her head like a crown, and while she claims it's practical, I learn that her father used to call her his little princess before he ran off with a washerwoman a few years back, and Mara wears her hair like this to remember him. Her mother is crabby and domineering, although she's backed off now that Mara is spending so much time with Natare and I. Mara thinks that her mother is hoping I'll fall in love with her daughter and marry her, by proxy elevating her entire family's social and financial standing. Sunset is her favourite time of day, and she, despite only being thirteen, has a new boyfriend practically every other week. I meet a few of them, but they tend to get intimidated by me so she stops bringing them around.

Annie is a lot harder for me to get a read on, possibly because she just isn't as outgoing as Mara and Natare. As I learned from my sister, her parents died in a hurricane a year ago, which has no outward effect on her. Sometimes, though, I catch Annie staring off into space while Mara and Natare giggle about something that happened in school that day. In open defiance of traditional style, Annie wears her hair unbraided. When I ask her why, she shrugs and says that not everything has a reason.

Maybe it's our shared tragic past, but the more time I spend with the girls, the more intrigued I am by Annie. It's completely platonic, of course – she's only thirteen – but I find myself making excuses to hang back and walk with her when we go somewhere. I find it really peaceful being around her, because if I feel like talking, she's happy to join in the conversation, but if I don't initiate anything we just walk in companionable silence. At first I made the mistake of thinking she never started conversations because she disliked talking to me, but that isn't it at all, it's just the way she is.

As the 66th Hunger Games approach, Natare and father – Mags as well, to be honest – watch me carefully for any signs that I might be in danger of reverting to my depressed state from my last brush with the Games. But my experiences during the victory tour have replaced my anguish over the Games with a sense of resentful bitterness – not necessarily a healthier emotion, but I can still function more or less normally with my new attitude.

Mags invites me over to her house in the Victor's Village a few days before the Reaping. She sits me down on her sofa – everything in her house is covered with lacy knit throws – hands me some sugar cubes, and starts talking. "I don't know how much you are aware of the mentoring rules, but because you're under-aged, you're exempt from mentoring this year."

I hadn't known this, and I give a sigh of relief. I had completely forgotten about the mentoring, to be honest, and I don't think I could deal with it this soon after my own time in the arena.

"But there's something I want to warn you about," she adds. "Snow can't touch you this year, but I expect he'll show up for a chat at some point during the Games to make sure you are both on the same page."

"I don't know what enrages me more," I say casually. "The fact that Snow is going to turn me into a slave, or the fact that I have absolutely no choice in the matter."

"There's always a choice," Mags reminds me.

"Not much of a choice."

"Cheer up," she tells me with a gummy smile. "We'll be dead and buried before you know it, and then you won't have to worry about anything anymore."

Since I'm a victor, I have to stand at the base of the stage with the other victors during the Reaping ceremony. I know them all by name and sight now, although Mags is the only one I actually go out of my way to spend time with. Andromache is cold-hearted and sharp-tongued – no wonder she goes through men like clockwork. Mikael is, of course, a self-absorbed Capitol sell-out. Then there are the other three female victors – making seven of us in total – who I don't give much thought to because I only say hello to them in passing: Coral, Lavender, and Ramona. They are of varying ages, and all Careers, which is probably why we don't get along, despite the fact that I had to pass myself off as a Career to survive my own Games.

Pompey bounds onto the stage, looking overly-excited and out-of-his-depth as always. "Welcome to the 66th Hunger Games!" he bellows, once again foregoing a microphone. Probably because he's so exuberant he would deafen people if he had one. "May the odds be ever in your favour!"

I glance back at the crowd, trying to spot Mara and Annie. I don't worry about Natare because she's only ten, and Reaping starts at twelve – she'll be with father, clutching his hand and praying for her friends. Mara and Annie are standing together over in the 13 Girls section, and even from here I can see their white faces and fearful expressions. I suddenly get a horrible feeling that Snow will rig the raffle so one of them gets chosen, but I dismiss the thought a second later. I haven't done anything to anger him yet – although I'm sure it will happen eventually – so there's no reason for him to punish me.

The Reaping goes smoothly, and soon a fifteen year old girl and a seventeen year old boy are standing beside Pompey. The guy is obviously devastated at being chosen, although from the way he keeps trying to smile I expect he's pretending he's fine for appearances' sake. But the girl is a Career, and she actually bounds up on stage to take the tribute mantle from an eighteen year old brunette who bursts into tears of relief when she realizes she's just been given another chance at life.

Lavender and Mikael are the mentors this year, so they head off with Pompey once the Reaping is over to discuss whatever it is that mentors and directors discuss. Mags tells me that we now get a few hours to pack and then report to the train station.

The reference to packing confuses me, because Germanicus has always provided me with clothes in my past dealings with the Capitol. "Only tributes get stylists," Mags says, chuckling at my expense. "The rest of us mere mortals have to make do with our own poor fashion sense."

I think back to my closet at home, and I can't recall a single thing that would be acceptable to wear in the Capitol. It's all baggy shorts and tank tops. "I may have to go naked," I lament, giving a great fake sigh.

"Somehow, I don't think you'll hear many complaints," someone says. Coral winks at me, then sashays off toward Victor's Village as if she hits on teenage boys all the time.

"I like her," Mags approves. "She's spunky."

"Come on," I laugh. "I need to pack my non-existent wardrobe, and if you don't stop by and say goodbye to Natare she'll never let you live it down."

When I get back to the house, father pulls me into his bedroom for one of his infamous paternal lectures. Today's topic is inappropriate behaviour.

"I've heard rumours of the things that go down in the Capitol," father says sternly. "I don't want you getting involved in anything unsavoury. If it's something you couldn't tell Natare about at length, then you keep well away from it, understand me?"

"Stop overreacting," I say, deftly avoiding agreeing or disagreeing with him. "I'm not even legal yet – I couldn't do anything if I tried."

Father sees through my side-step. "But if the opportunity presents itself, you won't do anything... ill-advised?"

"I won't do anything without a very good reason," I say firmly. He's my father and I love him, but I don't need him telling me what to do any longer. Advice I will take, but we both know it was my own decisions that got me out of the arena alive, and there's no coming back from that.

Natare and Mags share a long goodbye hug – I think my sister is coming to love Mags as much as I do – and then we take a car to the train station. One of the advantages of being friends with Mags is that the Capitol sends her a car for any Games-related business. She could probably make the walk, but Mags admitted to me herself that she pretends to be frailer than she is to get benefits like cars. I don't blame her – it beats walking.

Soon enough we are on the train as it zooms smoothly out of the station. It turns out that victors actually take the same train as the tributes, we're just confined to a different section so we don't interfere. Since Mags has expressed a liking for Coral, we seek her out and end up playing a card game she teaches us – apparently she's made a name for herself in the Capitol as a gambler – until we pull into Capitol Central a few hours later.

We are directed by a nameless Capitol attendant over to the Victor's Spire, which is across City Circle from the Training Center. I wonder briefly why it isn't Pompey telling us where to go, until I remember that he is, of course, busy with the new tributes. I'm old news to him, I think, and it amuses me for some reason.

Coral, Andromache, and Ramona head for the glass elevator, but when Mags and I start to follow them we are stopped by a wall of white.

"Welcome back to the Capitol," one of the Peacekeepers says in a flat voice. "President Snow would like to see you at your earliest convenience."

Mags bats her eyes at the white-clad guard, which looks ridiculous on a woman of seventy. "He flatters an old lady! What a kind man, our President. Preferring to keep company with an old woman like me when there are so many younger, far more interesting people to talk to!"

She's messing with the Peacekeeper, although it's hard to say if he notices or not. His voice seems to be permanently monotone. "President Snow would like to see Finnick Odair at his earliest convenience," he corrects.

"In that case," I say, smiling pleasantly, "tell him I'll be around in a few days, once I've got the lay of the land and whatnot."

I try to step around the Peacekeeper, but he and his companions deftly block my manoeuvring. Mags is trying very hard not to laugh. I'm tempted to see how long we can keep this going, but it's probably not a good plan to anger my jailer. My pimp? For some reason, thinking of Snow as a pimp suddenly makes him a whole lot less scary in my head. I like the new title, and decide to use it more often.

"Since I have nothing else to do," I shrug.

"See you later," Mags says, twiddling her fingers at me.

The lead Peacekeeper finally shows some sign of human emotion. Apparently tired of waiting, he gives a grunt of annoyance and grabs my arm. As they haul me off, I wave my hand at Mags and cry, "Go on without me, my love!"

I hear Mags cackling as they shove me into a car waiting outside and speed off toward the President's mansion.


	19. Part 2: Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Six**

Snow's mansion is at the north end of City Circle, and is so heavily fortified that my Peacekeepers have to go through three different security stations before they get me into the front foyer. From there I'm escorted up a huge, twisting marble staircase, and deposited in an open-ceilinged room that's basically a miniature greenhouse. Heavily perfumed roses line the walls in planters, and although you'd think that it would make the place smell nice, it really just gives me a headache.

Then President Snow arrives, and I bite back the urge to grimace. He's short, thin, and white-haired, but the worst thing is his lips – huge, thick things that stretch across his face. It gives me the impression of looking at a snake trying to pass itself off as human but not quite succeeding. I've seen him before, during the televised Games, but he's even more detestable in person.

"Finnick Odair," he says, and his creepy lips pull his face wider into a smile. "How kind of you to stop by."

I decide to play it safe. Even though I know what cards Snow is holding, he doesn't need to know that I know. "It's an honour to meet you, Mister President," I schmooze, bowing. Then I put on a politely bewildered expression. "The Peacekeepers didn't tell me why you wanted to see me. I hope I didn't do anything wrong."

Snow buys it – or, at least I think he does. He goes over to a wrought iron bench, sits down, and pats the seat beside him. Once I've lowered myself down next to him, he smiles at me again. His breath smells like blood. I store this interesting tidbit away from future reference, and then listen to him as he speaks. "My dear boy," he says paternally. "Why don't we talk about your experience in the Hunger Games arena?"

I pale. "I'd really rather not—"

Snow gives a soft titter. "Oh, no, I don't mean for you to relive that experience, my boy! It must have been simply horrible! I mean to say, let us talk about the gifts you received while in the arena."

Despite myself, I have to admire him for finding such a seemingly innocuous way to lead in to the subject. If I didn't know what was coming, I would have had no idea what Snow had really called me here to discuss. "They were really generous," I admit. "I didn't realize it at the time, of course, because I was busy trying not to get myself killed, but the people of Capitol really went all out for me."

His smile widens, because the conversation is going exactly as he'd hoped. "Surely you want to thank the good people of Capitol for their kindness?"

I consider saying, "No, actually, they can all rot in hell", but I've already decided that there's no real point in fighting this, beyond angering Snow and possibly getting my family killed. Then it occurs to me that if I can actually, legitimately get some of the high-ranking people in Capitol to fall in love with me, I might have some leverage should a day ever come when I need to do something that Snow won't like. This in mind, I make my eyes all wide and say, "That's a great idea! But I don't see how I could thank all of them, because it really wouldn't be the same if I didn't do it personally..."

Snow's eyes narrow in anticipation. This must be the part he likes the most – the big reveal, when his unwitting little victors discover the truth of how things really work. "In fact, I have just the thing," he tells me. "A few of your sponsors – all women, if you can believe it! – have expressed interest in meeting you personally. They say they are eager to be repaid for their kindness by spending a night with you and your... considerable charms."

I pretend to be confused, because I figure a fifteen year old wouldn't be experienced enough to read between the lines. "What, you mean like talk to them? I guess I could do that."

Snow bares his teeth at me with a full on predatory grin. "No, Mister Odair. I am talking about sex."

There are two ways to play this, and I've considered both but still haven't decided on the best one. Option A would be to be horrified by the idea, and act all wounded and victim-like. Option B is to pass myself off as a nymphomaniac. In the end I choose B, in the hopes that Snow won't bother to keep an eye on someone who sees his enslavement as more an enjoyable recreational activity than a thankless and degrading task.

I give a disbelieving laugh and lean forward in a fair imitation of eagerness. "Are you serious?" I grin. "They want me to thank them by banging them? Sweet!"

Snow's face relaxes into a patronizing smile. He drops his guard because like most people he thinks I'm just a pretty face, so how could I pose a threat? Even my experience in the arena will help me maintain this image, since it's easy to believe that I basically coasted through on donations from my sponsors. "I'm glad you are so keen on the idea, my boy."

"How could I not be?" I enthuse. "This is just unbelievable!" I pause, as if a thought has just occurred to me. "But I probably shouldn't tell people about it, right? I mean, girls are pretty crabby about guys who kiss and tell."

Snow winks at me. "You've got the gist of it, Finnick. So you're on board for the plan?"

"Do I get to choose which women?"

He clears his throat, and the hard glint returns to his eye. "I think we should leave decisions like that to more experienced men. You have many ladies clamouring for your attentions, Mister Odair. I will be helping you pick and choose, so you can avoid making tedious decisions and simply enjoy the task at hand. How does that sound?"

I shrug, as if I couldn't care less. "Whatever. It doesn't really matter, right? All Capitol women are smoking hot."

Snow gives a delighted laugh, and I wonder if he genuinely enjoys my attitude. "They are indeed. But one more thing, Finnick."

"What's that?"

"We are entering into a contract here, you and I. I have no doubt you'll keep your part of the bargain, which is of course to satisfy our attention-starved female populace. And I will do my part by making sure you keep company with only the best ladies. But if you go back on your side of the deal, we will have problems."

I know what kind of problems he's talking about, but I have to hear him say them so I'm sure we're on the same page. "What kind of problems?"

"Family problems."

I give him my best what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about look. "Are you saying you're going to hurt my folks?"

"I said nothing of the kind," Snow says pleasantly. "Just something to keep in my mind."

I roll my eyes. "Paranoid much? Why wouldn't I take your deal? Free sex, sir, that's not something you turn down."

"Perhaps I misjudged you," Snow says, relaxing again. "Although I must remind you that I will be directing you toward all of your female sponsors, some of whom are not as... hot as others."

I give him that look all teenagers perfect, where we stare at an adult uncomprehendingly like they're from another planet. "Sir. Free. Sex."

Snow laughs loudly and pats my shoulder in a fatherly fashion. "Out of the mouths of hormonally charged teenage males. Alright, Finnick, I think we're done here."

I start to get up, then pause deliberately. "When does this little arrangement of ours start?"

"Due to your youth, not until you turn sixteen, so one year from now."

I make a face. "Lame."

Snow chuckles at the word. "Lame indeed. Off you go now, my boy. You should consider spending more time with the victors from District 1 and 2 – I hear they know how to have a good time."

"I got that impression too," I say. Then Snow holds out his hand for me to shake it, and I'm hit with a wave of revulsion at the thought of touching this evil man. But I hide it well, and I force a grin as I shake his skeletal hand. "If there's nothing else?"

"No, no," Snow says jovially, waving me out. I get the hell out of there before my devil-may-care facade breaks and I try something stupid, like attacking Snow.

When I get back to the Victor's Spire, I hit the 4 button and head for the fourth floor. I don't actually know that this is where I'll be staying, but I figure it works on the same principal as the Training Center, with each district having the floor that its number corresponds to.

Mags is sitting with Coral and Ramona, knitting while they laugh about something, so I say, "Mags, can I talk to you for a second?"

"Bit old for you, isn't she?" Ramona barks, and she and Coral snicker.

"Experience over youth any day," I shoot back, then follow Mags as she heads for what must be my room. Sure enough, someone has put a placard on the door that says "F. Odair". Once I'm satisfied that Coral and Ramona are no longer paying us any attention, I go into my new room and shut the door behind me.

"How did it go?" Mags asks, sitting carefully down on the armchair in the corner of the room. She examines my face closely. "You look traumatized."

"I'm not traumatized, thanks so much," I retort, collapsing onto the bed. "I decided to act like a complete idiot so Snow has absolutely no reason to be suspicious of me. I was practically begging him to pimp me out."

"And it makes you feel miserable," Mags says insightfully. "But I think it will help you in the long run."

I consider this for a moment. "What I'd really like to do," I say, "is punch him right in the face. No warning, just... BAM. One good punch. That's all I'm asking."

Mags stares at me for one long moment, then starts to shake with silent laughter.

"Probably not the best plan," I admit.

"No," she snorts. "Probably not."


	20. Part 2: Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Seven**

The Hunger Games are a whole new experience when you're doing it from the angle of a victor. Back before I won, Natare, father and I would gather around our TV every evening and watch with apathy mixed with disgust as children massacred each other on the little screen. Classes were suspended for the few weeks the Games took place, and we would all gather in the auditorium to gasp and shout at the events that went on in the arena. It was always easier to pretend we didn't care about the tributes when we were among our peers. During the Games, of course, I was busy staying alive so I didn't have much time to really pay attention to much beyond myself.

But watching the Games with my fellow victors is like nothing I've ever experienced. The range of emotions as the thirty-something of us gather in a huge auditorium in the basement of the Victor's Spire each day to watch the Games is staggering. Most of the victors from 1 and 2 sit in the front rows, cackling and jeering the tributes on screen as they get themselves impaled with spears and chased off cliffs by packs of rabid mutts. Some people from the other districts who've given up caring join them, while others glare at them or even burst out with a heart-felt lecture when they can't take the mockery anymore.

Mags sits with me in the back row, which is normally reserved for the morphlings. Most of them come from District 6 – no idea why, they just seem to have a lot of morphling addicts there – and they mostly just stare at the screen and giggle at the colours flashing past. But Mags is so old that she knows all the victors personally, and I think she doesn't want to get involved in the quarrels so she hides back here.

By the time the opening ceremonies, training days, and interviews are over, I've met almost all of the victors. They've heard of me, of course, since they had to watch my Games last year, and most of them are friendly – especially Districts 1 and 2, as Snow predicted. Since they are the traditional Careers, and I passed myself off as a Career, they see me as one of them. Cashmere isn't here – she's mentoring this year – but her brother Gloss is, and he makes sure to include me in their group, possibly at his sister's urging. I kind of wish Cashmere were around, because I'm pretty sure she'd help me relieve some of my pent up tension.

A few days into the Games – this time, set in a lush rainforest that's got plenty of food and water, but is crawling with every poisonous animal and insect you can think of – the Careers call me over to sit with them when I head for the back of the auditorium with Mags. "I don't have to," I tell her.

"Oh, join them," she dismisses. "But if you start mocking those poor children I will personally strangle you."

I kiss her on the cheek. "See you later, mentor mine," I say, and then I return Gloss's wave and go to sit with them. The Careers are loud and arrogant, it's true, but they aren't necessarily bad people. A lot of them, I've learned through talking to them, come from families where they've been trained from birth for the singular purpose of winning the Games. If father had been like that, would I have turned out any differently?

Once I've won my way into the Career victors' exclusive club, I'm suddenly open to a whole new world of opportunities. Most of them, although they don't say anything, are involved with President Snow and his pimp project, and they know all the best places to go if you're looking for a good time. Tributes may be confined to the Training Center, but we victors have free reign of the Capitol while we're in town for the Games.

When the District 1 female tribute executes a particularly clever plan that involves trapping three scared tributes together in a clearing and then pelting them with poisonous darts from all sides, Gloss suggests we celebrate by going to "Icicle". Icicle is a club in the east end of the city where everything is ice-themed. The drinks are served in carved out ice bowls, scantily clad women gyrate on a slippery-slide ice dance floor, and all the songs have names like "You're My Ice Queen", and "Melt My Icy Heart with your Hotness".

I end up in a car with Gloss, Carrera and Saffron – Carrera is from 1, and Saffron from 2. The four of us pull up at the club, and I'm immediately overwhelmed by sound and the press of people. I start for the back of the line, but Saffron hooks her arm through mine and drags me over to the bouncer. "Hi," she simpers, thrusting her chest out.

The big bouncer eyes her appreciatively. "Looking hot, Saffron," he grins, then waves us through. I barely have a chance to get used to the pounding beat and dancing strobes before Saffron is hauling me onto the dance floor. She and Carrera made sure I was dressed appropriately before we left – I'm currently in an unbuttoned black shirt and shiny silver pants – and I have no problem fitting in with the people grinding around me. I've got a pretty good sense of rhythm, so soon I'm swivelling my hips with the best of them.

Saffron has eyes only for me. She seems to be attempting to seduce me through dance, wiggling all over me and getting up as close to me as she can. And it's working. I respond, and soon we're grinding our hips together to the beat of the music. When she gets thirsty, we get swirly tropical drinks from the bartender. Inebriation quickly follows, and after becoming suitably sloshed we return to the dance floor.

Two girls come up, one on each side, and start dancing with us, creating a little triangle with me in the middle. "You're a great dancer!" one of them shouts over the noise.

"That's not all I'm great at," I say, and her eyes widen with interest. Really, they make it too easy. Or maybe they don't care so much what I say, as opposed to the way in which I say it.

By the end of the night, I leave the club with Saffron under one arm and "great dancer" girl under the other. I was hesitant at first, but they don't seem to care that I'm bringing both of them home – in fact, their hands keep straying to places that make me inhale sharply and bat their hands away before we attract attention. I don't know why I bother, though – every woman in this place is undressing me with her eyes, despite my attempts to go relatively unnoticed.

Saffron pinches my rear end as we wait for the car, and I yelp in surprise. "I can't wait to see what's under those clothes," she murmurs, tracing a finger down my chest.

Not to be outdone, the other girl – whose name is possibly Vesta – grabs my crotch. This time I actually jump, and Saffron and Vesta grin at each other.

Since I don't really want to hear what Mags has to say about my... company, we end up in Saffron's room. If I was worried about how I was going to handle two girls at once, I shouldn't have been. Their enthusiasm more than makes up for my inexperience. When I wake up the next morning with Saffron and Vesta sprawled half on top of me, I reflect that being Capitol's sex symbol has some pretty fantastic perks.

Saffron and I stumble into the auditorium around two o'clock the next day. Gloss and Carrera, who know what we were up to, snicker at our late arrival and obvious hangovers. When the mandatory viewing of the Games is over, I go over to Mags and wait like a petulant child for her to berate me for my activities last night.

Instead she grins and says, "Saffron? Nicely done. She never dates victors."

I shake my head in disbelief. "Mags, you're just..."

"I believe the word you're looking for is hip," she cackles. "What, you expected me to lecture you? I'm not your mother, Finnick Odair."

"As good as," I say. Mags gets all teary eyed and flings her frail arms around me.

"You're a good boy," she murmurs.

"I try," I mumble, and Mags laughs. "I'm kind of lost," I admit to her. "I never thought of myself as the... wild, no-consequences, animal sex kind of guy before."

She considers this for a moment. "You're young, and hormonal. Go with it, and have fun. Because this may be your only chance. Snow isn't going to give you a moment to yourself next year, and for decades after that." And although I'll still be sleeping with multiple women, it won't be by choice, and therefore I'll be completely miserable.

"I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts," I decide.

Mags snorts. "I would have mocked you mercilessly if you made any other choice."

That night, Saffron and I head out to a different club and start it all over again. At one point she mentions how surprising it is that she hasn't gotten bored of me yet, which I take as a compliment. And I'm certainly enjoying every minute of it – Saffron is fun to be around and very, very sensual – right up until Cashmere's tribute drowns in an acid pool and she returns to the Victor's Spire.

I'm lounging in the District 1 common area with Saffron when Cashmere walks in. Saffron is halfway on top of me, and we're quite obviously in the middle of a steamy make-out session. Gloss and Carrera are sitting across the room, watching the Games on the flat screen TV. At first I found these public displays of affection awkward, but when it became clear to me that this kind of behaviour is actually expected of me, I got over my inhibitions quickly enough.

"Hey, Cashmere," Saffron greets, pulling away from me long enough to shoot her blonde District mate a sympathetic look. "Sucks about Ruby."

Cashmere shrugs. "She had it coming, taunting Thorne like that." Thorne is the male District 1 tribute, and I remember now that it was he who ended up shoving his district mate – Cashmere's tribute – into the acid pit. Talk about district loyalty.

But while they chat, I'm suddenly frozen with fear, because I've heard all about girls clawing out guys' eyes for sleeping around behind their backs. I'm not quite sure what to call what Cashmere and I have, but I plan out an escape route in case she gets violent when she realizes that I've been Saffron's sex buddy for the past few weeks.

Cashmere takes us in – Saffron on top of me, me looking incredibly awkward – and instead of exploding, says, "Not bad for a newbie, isn't he?"

Saffron grins down at me. "Not bad at all. He learns quickly, and I have to say, he constantly surprises me."

Not sure how I feel about being treated like a piece of meat, I start to speak up, but Cashmere overrides me. "How long have you been sleeping with him?" she demands, and suddenly I fear the worst.

"Two weeks," Saffron says.

Again, the rage I expected comes out as amused interest. "Wow. You never keep them around for more than a few days."

Saffron winks at me. "Like I said, he constantly surprises me."

Gloss breaks away from the Games long enough to glare at us. "Trying to watch, here."

"Sorry," I say.

Saffron and Cashmere suddenly stare at each other, and they both smile slowly. "We won't bother Gloss in the bedroom," Cashmere says.

Saffron hops to her feet and grabs my hand. "Come on," she says, tugging at my hand. "What are you waiting for? An invitation?"

I suddenly wish I had bothered to keep some of my male friends from back home, just so I could see their faces when I told them that Cashmere and Saffron were inviting me to a threesome. Because they're waiting for my response, I turn on the charm and say in my seductive voice, "Lead the way, ladies."

They giggle and sashay off to the bedroom. As I start to follow, Gloss shoots me an annoyed look. "If you have to bang my sister, at least keep it down. I don't want to have a nightmare about this later."

I salute him, and then head eagerly for the bedroom, and the two lovely ladies that are waiting for me inside.


	21. Part 2: Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Eight**

All too soon the Games are over – I never thought I'd actually be saying that – and the victors are all packed up and put on the train back home. The winner is some guy from a random district like 7 or 9 – I wasn't really paying attention, but he seems to have won by sheer dumb luck. Saffron plants a kiss on my cheek and wiggles her fingers at me, and Cashmere then follows suit.

Now that I think about it, I'm not sure how Saffron and Cashmere managed to spend so many nights with me if they're under Snow's control like I'll soon be. Maybe they have something on him, or he doesn't have anything on them – or maybe he actually orchestrated this whole thing to get me some practical experience in the art of making love, so I won't disappoint my future lovers. My head starts to swim from too many theories, so I shut down and fall asleep to Mags' clacking knitting needles for the duration of the train ride.

When I get back home, nearly a month after I left, father is waiting for me alone in the entry hall. "Hi," I say, peering around suspiciously. Natare wouldn't miss my homecoming for the world, so where is she?

"Welcome back, son," father says, and we embrace stiffly. Then he frowns. "You remember our little talk, before you left?"

"I behaved exactly as I was expected to," I say, which of course tells him nothing at all. Luckily, I'm saved from having to elaborate by Natare, Mara, and Annie running into the room.

"Welcome home, big brother!" Natare shouts, flinging her arms around me, while Mara and Annie throw handfuls of confetti at my head and laugh. "Surprise!"

"Sneaky little girl," I grin, and start to tickle her in retaliation. Father watches, amused, as Annie and Mara try to pull me off my giggling sister. Finally they succeed, and Natare collapses to the floor, gasping for breath.

"Not fair!" she pouts when she recovers. "You're bigger than me!"

"Well, you outnumber me," I counter, sticking my tongue out at her. "So there."

We retire to the kitchen, where the girls have prepared an elaborate feast – well, elaborate by District 4 standards. In Capitol, this is what the servants eat. But it reminds me of home, and tastes delicious besides, so I eat with gusto. We catch up on what I've missed since I've been gone – Mara's new boyfriend, Natare almost getting her leg bitten off when she swam too close to a hungry shark, Annie's brush with fame. It turns out Annie caught the eye of the most popular guy in her year – his name is something idiotic like Reef – and when she turned him down there was a minor scandal.

"Why did you say no?" I ask her. "He sounds... interesting."

"You mean conceited?" Annie grins.

"Hey, I never said any such thing."

"I'm looking for a guy with substance," she explains. "Someone who actually cares about me for me, not because he just happens to like the way I look."

"Looks are important, too," I say, thinking of Cashmere and Saffron.

"Maybe to you," Annie says loftily, and I realize I've said something wrong.

Mara and Natare are looking back and forth between us, apparently unwilling to interject themselves in the argument. "Not the most important, not by a long shot," I hastily correct. "But you have to admit they do factor in. A romantic relationship needs to have some desire at the core, or it won't last."

"And you would know this because you're Finnick Odair, ladies' man," Annie mocks. Crap, I really have pissed her off. "How many girlfriends have you actually had?"

Since I have no intention of telling her about Cashmere, and Saffron, and Venus, and the other girls Saffron brought along every once in a while, I say, "More than you."

It's not the answer she's looking for, but Annie does seem calmer now. "Sorry," she says out of the blue. "I get what you mean."

And this is why I like Annie. She always understands me, even if it takes her a while to get there sometimes. Not that I'm any better.

I settle back down to my normal life easily enough, although I've gotten so used to just saying whatever's on my mind when I was in the Capitol that I have to mentally censor myself. Especially when it comes to things like sex and relationships. Philandering my way through the Capitol is fine, but the girls in District 4 are... above that sort of thing. Our traditions are all about settling down with one man, raising a family, staying faithful to your partner, etc. This is not to say that I don't get very suggestive glances – and a couple of blatant proposals – in my wanderings through the village, but I have too much respect for these girls to risk giving them a bad reputation. Not that I don't respect Cashmere or Saffron, but they live on a different plane of existence from we humble fisher-folk in District 4.

Months crawl by, and I manage to forget most of the time about the next Hunger Games, and the responsibilities that are going to come with it. Mags tells me that I will probably have to mentor, since Mikael did it last time. I'm not sure I'm capable of balancing mentoring and seducing various prominent Capitol ladies at the same time, but it doesn't sound like I'll be getting a choice.

One sunny day, Annie comes up to me while I'm down at the docks, fixing one of the nets on our fishing boat for father so he can go out tomorrow and continue his one-man crusade to catch every single fish in the sea. I'm sitting shirtless on the deck because it's a miserably hot day, facing the sea, and so I don't notice Annie until she says, "Finnick?"

I glance up. She's in her school sailor outfit, long hair swirling around her shoulders, and she looks on the verge of tears. "What's wrong?" I ask, instantly concerned.

"It's nothing," she mumbles, standing on the boardwalk beside my bobbing boat and looking down at her hands. "Just something stupid. Never mind."

Rolling my eyes, I grab her hand and tug her onto the boat. "Sit," I say, pointing at a small bench at the prow of the vessel. Annie does as I say, and within a few minutes I have us untied and out to sea. The sea breeze usually has a calming effect on people, and I can see Annie's shoulders relax as we cut a path across the waves.

Once we're about half an hour out, I drop anchor and head into our little cabin where we keep the supplies we don't want to be washed overboard in case of a storm. Opening a little metal box, I pull out a small bag of sugar cubes that I keep there, the cool of the cabin preventing the sugar from congealing together. I also grab a flask of water, then go back out onto the deck.

Annie is now sitting on the starboard side, dangling her feet off the edge of the boat. She's rolled up the sleeves of her uniform due to the heat. I plunk down beside her and say, "Sugar cube?"

She's seen me with them before, but never been offered one, so Annie smiles at the gesture and accepts it.

"Now that you've partaken of my sugar, you must tell me all your secrets," I say in my seductive voice. Annie flips the little cube around in her fingers, not eating it.

"It really is stupid," she says. "I shouldn't have bothered you."

I nudge her arm. "You're my friend. Deal with it."

So Annie tells me her story. "The Winter Solstice dance is coming up, and Reef apparently decided that my first rejection was just a temporary lapse of judgment, because he asked me out again yesterday. I told him no, because he's completely not my type, but today when I got to school everyone was laughing at me. It turns out he told everyone that I had basically thrown myself at him, because I was desperate to go with someone to the dance and no one would ask me."

"That doesn't sound so bad," I say unthinkingly.

She turns furious eyes on me. "That's because all you do is walk around looking like a god in human form, completely oblivious to the fact that some of us have a bit harder time getting the attention of the opposite sex!"

Some ladies' man I am, I think sourly. Why do I always have to say such stupid things to Annie? Then I hit on the perfect solution. "Let's be honest," I say to her. "You're lovely, and could easily have a date if you wanted."

Annie smiles at that, but then she gets sad again. "Not after Reef's little rumour."

"Screw Reef," I tell her. "Screw your entire school, in fact. If the problem is they all think you can't get a guy, then let's show them that you can reel in the very best of us."

Her eyes widen in interest. "Are you offering to take me to the dance?"

I give a big stretch, showing off my lean muscles. Annie gawks at me despite our purely platonic relationship, because I'm just that wonderful. "Unless you think they'd laugh at you again."

"Not with you on my arm," Annie grins.

"Hey," I protest. "The girl goes on the guy's arm, not vice versa."

"Tough," she shoots back.

I pout at Annie until she gives in and ruffles my hair fondly. "You're on," she smiles, and I feel a deep sense of satisfaction that comes from making my friend happy. Although now I'll have to go to a school dance, of all things. Well, can't win them all.


	22. Part 2: Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Nine**

Natare walks into my room the evening of the dance, and gapes at me when she sees that I'm wearing an actual suit, although I absolutely refuse to button up the shirt all the way. Since she hasn't seen me out of a t-shirt and shorts for months, this must be somewhat shocking. Also, considering I haven't told her about the little plan Annie and I have cooked up to humiliate Reef, she must be very confused at the moment.

"Nice suit," she says, padding into the room and doing a full circuit around me. "You look good in anything," Natare sighs.

I grab her and give her a one-armed hug. "Jealous, little sister?"

Since I've called her on it, Natare is quick to deny the accusation. "I'm prettier than you'll ever be."

"And rightly so," I agree. "Boys aren't supposed to be pretty."

Natare beams up at me angelically. "What did that little girl in District 12 say about you? Mama, he's soooo pretty!" She mimics the girl's dreamy voice perfectly.

"Get out, brat," I laugh, pushing her toward the door. She sticks out her tongue and then races off, probably to ask Mara and Annie – who are getting ready in her room – why I'm wearing a suit.

I stare into the mirror for a few minutes, making sure I look absolutely as devastatingly handsome as possible, because the whole point of this is for Reef to see me with Annie and then get so jealous he'll hopefully do something stupid like pick a fight. Then I can teach him some manners, and Annie's idiotic classmates will stop taunting her with the ridiculous idea that she's undesirable. Because she isn't, not by a long shot. True, she's only thirteen, but it's obvious that she's going to grow up to be stunning.

Natare bursts into my room again just as I'm about to leave. "Why didn't you tell us you were taking Annie to the dance?" she demands. "Mara's been telling us for weeks about those awful rumours going on about Annie – no one would dare saying such stupid things if they knew you were taking her!" Natare's eyes narrow suddenly. "Wait, why are you taking her? Do you like her?"

"Relax," I snort. "I'm taking Annie precisely because of those rumours. Get it?"

I wait a minute, and then she does. "Ooh, I wish I could come," Natare says wistfully. "The look on Reef's face when you two show up..."

Mara and Annie are waiting for me in the front foyer. They're both nicely done up, wearing pretty pastel dresses, and I give a wolf-whistle. "Finnick," Natare scolds, slapping my arm as we descend the stairs.

Annie must have told Mara about our plan, because Mara eyes me and says, "This should be good." I wink at her, and she grins. Then I turn to Annie and offer her my arm. She gives me a dazzling smile and accepts.

"You ladies look absolutely breathtaking," I say, provoking a fit of giggles from my female companions.

Natare glances at the clock on the wall. "You're going to be late! Go!"

Mara is supposed to meet her latest boyfriend at the edge of town – apparently he wasn't willing to actually enter Victor's Village – so we walk as a threesome for a few minutes. Then Mara spots a blonde kid standing awkwardly beside the butcher shop, shouts "Greg!" and waves. Greg walks over to us, then realizes who I am and pales.

"Uh, hi, Finnick," he stammers.

"Greg, was it?" I say, giving him a friendly smile.

"S-sure," he responds shakily. Then he turns to Mara and hisses a bit too loudly, "You didn't tell me Finnick Odair was coming."

"Why?" Mara demands. "Because you're afraid he'll pull a trident out of his pocket and impale you, or because you think he'll steal me from you? Both are plain stupid, Greg." Wow, I think, remembering the scared little girl I'd met a year and a half ago. They grow up so quickly.

Greg mutters something about not being scared, and we proceed down to the boardwalk, where the dance is being held. Someone has hung strings of paper lanterns back and forth overhead, reflecting in the dark, sparkling sea, and a string quartet plays a merry jig over the chatting of the kids gathered here this evening. Greg all but drags Mara away into the crowd as soon as we hit the boardwalk.

"I'm kind of glad you don't bring boyfriends around, if all the guys at your school are like him," I comment, watching Greg's blonde hair bob away. "Mara needs higher standards."

"Who do you want her to date? You?" Annie smiles and hugs my arm. "You're all mine for tonight, Prince Charming."

I arch an eyebrow. "Prince Charming? Not bad, as nicknames go. I'll take it."

Annie suddenly tenses. I follow her vision down the boardwalk, and spot a tall, arrogant looking kid with spiky hair laughing with his mates. "Reef?" She nods. "Go say hello," I suggest.

"But I thought—"

"I'll be along in a second," I assure her. "Trust me."

I watch her start to make her way through the crowd, and follow after at a steady pace. I'm a bit surprised that no one recognizes me, but I'm guessing they're either too focused on dancing and looking cool, or just don't expect to see me at a school dance. I didn't expect to see myself at a school dance either, to be fair.

Annie is now standing in front of Reef, and he's saying something obviously meant to be hurtful, because he's sneering while his friends laugh behind him. I see Annie straighten – good for her, standing up to him – and I make my entrance. Closing the last few feet, I slip up beside Annie and drape my arm around her shoulders. "There you are, angel," I coo, pressing a kiss to her long hair. I glance up and give Reef and his buddies a menacing smile. "I don't believe we've met."

Reef is staring at me like I'm... okay, like I'm a fifteen year old guy who recently won a national gladiatorial death match by killing five other kids. Who also happens to be infinitely more popular with the ladies, and doesn't have to bully girls into dating him.

"F-F-Finnick Odair?" one of his friends blurts out. "You're here with Finnick Odair?"

Reef recovers enough to shoot Annie a taunting look. "What did you have to do to get him to come with you?" His lips tug upward into a leer. "How long did it take you to spread your legs, little Annie?"

Honestly, I think in disbelief. The cruelty of children knows no bounds. This Reef kid can't be over fourteen, and he's spewing out poison like this. Well, I'd been expecting a normal bully, not a sexist pig, but I'm pretty good at improvising.

"That was rude," I inform him. "Saying that to any woman will get you a slap in the face." I lean forward, and I think he suddenly notices I've got at least a head of height on him. "Saying that to my date is going to get you killed."

I threaten him softly enough so that only Reef hears. The last thing I need is to accidentally upset Annie. She's one of the sweetest people I know, and definitely doesn't belong around all this ugliness.

Reef is obviously uneasy, but he remembers that he isn't alone. "Like you'd try anything in the middle of a school dance, Odair."

I arch an eyebrow. "Think very hard about who exactly it is you're talking to, and then ask me that question again."

Oh right, I almost hear him think. Finnick Odair. The Hunger Games victor who killed innocent kids in cold blood with the entire nation watching. Maybe I shouldn't mess with him after all.

I grab a fistful of his shirt and lift him into the air. His cronies start forward, then rethink their strategy. Having a rep as a merciless killer comes in surprisingly handy. "You are going to stop harassing Annie. You are going to get over your pathetic wounded pride, and stop spreading rumours about her because she rejected your punk ass. Oh, and you're going to get down on your knees in front of the entire school and apologize to her."

Reef's still brave enough to sneer at me. "Like hell I will, Odair. Shove off."

"We can end this now," I inform him. "Or I can follow you home from school one day and teach you a lesson. Victors don't get in trouble for hospitalizing people."

He's obviously going to argue, but then he realizes that he's been dangling in the air by my fist for at least a minute now. My muscles are starting to ache, to be honest, but Reef doesn't need to know that. "Well?" I scowl.

Reef shoves at my hand, and I release him. He staggers slightly as he hits the boardwalk. "Fine!" he half-shouts. Then he turns to Annie, who's watching the whole scene wide-eyed, and I realize that I should have done this somewhere more private. I'd been counting on the public setting to keep Reef in check, but I hadn't anticipated he'd take out his frustration on Annie. "I'm sorry, Annie," he starts, then adds in a growl, "Sorry that you're too much of a little bitch to realize a good thing when it's offered! Have fun with your boy toy, slut!"

Annie's eyes fill with tears. I punch Reef in the face.

"Try again," I tell him sternly.

There are a few teachers gathering a couple of yards away, eyeing the situation uneasily, but since it's me involved they're wary about getting involved. I bet a lot of them are enjoying seeing Reef get taken down a notch anyway.

"What the hell, man?" Reef bellows. "It was just a freaking schoolyard rumour! Get over it!"

"It's not just a rumour when it makes my friend upset!" I shout back. He roars and lunges at me, so I sidestep and smash my hand into his lower back. Reef goes down with a cry of pain. Then I kick him for good measure. "Tomorrow, you are going to apologize to Annie in the middle of homeroom, and then you are never going to speak to or about her again," I command. "Now get out of here before you really start to piss me off!"

Reef scuttles away from me on hands and knees, then scrambles to his feet and books it for safety. His gang exchange uncertain looks, then abandon their leader and vanish into the crowd of onlookers. Things got more violent than I had anticipated, but the end result is a good one – no one will be remotely interested in anything that Reef has to say for a good few years. Which means Annie won't have to cry anymore.

I look to my left and see that Annie has her hands twisted together, looking around anxiously. I can't imagine she approves of our testosterone-fuelled confrontation, especially since it happened because of her. Also, she's still looking teary over Reef's insults. So I hold out my hand and say, "Care to dance, sweetheart?"

A couple of the onlookers – girls, of course – sigh as Annie accepts my hand with a loud sniff and lets me lead her over to a part of the boardwalk where people are actually dancing, and not eagerly watching one guy pound another into the floorboards.

"Sorry about that," I tell her, pulling her into my arms so I don't have to see her reaction. She's probably glaring at me right now for causing a scene. That, or about to burst into tears again.

Instead, Annie says, "Sorry for what? You did exactly what I hoped."

That makes me lean back and stare at her in confusion. "You hoped I'd karate-chop Reef to the ground and send him running for his mother?"

"I hoped you'd make him leave me alone," Annie corrects, and to my complete surprise she rises up on her tiptoes and kisses me on the cheek. "Which you did. So thanks, Finnick."

Annie Cresta never ceases to amaze me. "My pleasure," I tell her, and then we dance the rest of the night away.


	23. Part 2: Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Ten**

All too soon, the 68th Hunger Games are only a few weeks away, and all the District 4 victors are called to the Justice building for a meeting. I wasn't invited last year because I was too young to be a mentor, but now I'm practically the guest of honour since I'm definitely being chosen this year.

We all gather in one of the wood-panelled rooms: me, Mags, Mikael, Andromache, Coral, Ramona, and Lavender. The soft-spoken mayor's aide directs us around a large wooden table with a large screen set up at one end. As soon as we are all settled in, Pompey's beaming face appears on the monitor. "Welcome to the 68th Hunger Games Mentor Selection! May the odds be ever in your favour!"

I roll my eyes. "I hate that line."

Pompey shoots me a hurt expression. It startles me, because I'd thought this was just a recording. "Sorry," I add quickly.

"Quite alright," he says, mollified. "Now, time for choosing this year's mentors! May I remind you that volunteers are accepted at any point up until the first day of the Games, so if, say, you wanted to mentor someone you knew, you would be able to volunteer."

Good to know, although hopefully something I'll never have to use.

"So, this year's mentors!" Pompey continues. "For the males, Finnick! And the ladies will be represented by—"

"I'll do it," Andromache interrupts.

"Andromache wishes she could go back into the arena," Coral says scornfully. "But since she can't, she'll just have to live vicariously through her tributes."

"Excuse me for taking an interest in our district," Andromache snaps.

I half expect Pompey to panic from this blatant hostility, but I realize he's into his third year as our director, and must be used to it by now. Andromache must not volunteer every year, but she obviously has a reputation among our little victor circle.

"Don't suppose you want to take this one?" I ask Mikael nonchalantly.

"Not on your life, kid," he says. "I've got things to do, people to see." I bet you do, I think darkly. Lord knows what secrets you've told your friend Seneca Crane. And who will suffer because of them.

Tomorrow is my birthday, and I must be looking unhappy because Mags invites me to take a stroll with her by the sea shore after the meeting. We borrow a car and end up a few miles south of the main village, fine sand sifting through our toes as we walk along the beach. After ten minutes of silence, I give in and start talking.

"How's it going to work?"

Mags is starting to pant – it's hot, and she's old – so we sit down on a large rock cluster. "Mentoring a kid who has a 4% chance of survival, or seducing your soon-to-be-lovers?"

I arch an eyebrow at her. "Whoever said I was seducing anyone?"

"Wasn't that your plan?" Mags asks. "Make all the lovely Capitol ladies fall in love with you so you can play on their feelings for you if the need ever arises? And perhaps learn some juicy secrets that could get you out of a sticky situation?"

"Yes," I agree, laughing. "I forget how much I tell you."

"I am the Fort Knox of secrets," Mags says. It's an old saying, and no one knows what it means anymore. I guess it was some guy named Knox who was really good at keeping things safe. "Because you're mentoring, though, you'll have to stay in the Training Center until your tribute either wins or gets himself killed. Once you're free of your mentoring obligations, I'm sure Snow will cart you off to the ladies he has lined up almost immediately."

"Did I tell you I'm pretending to be a hormonally-crazed teenage boy so he doesn't suspect I secretly want to eviscerate him and his entire corrupt government?" I ask. Mags chuckles and nods. "I just want to be free of all this," I admit. "How phenomenally unfair is it that once your name is called at the Reaping, the rest of your life is basically devoted to the Hunger Games?"

"At least we don't have to go into the arena again," Mags reminds me.

"That's true," I agree, then roll my eyes. "Unless one of those stupid Quarter Quell cards makes victors go back in. But that would never happen."

"We victors have a good deal of political clout," Mags agrees. "I'd imagine if something like that ever happened, an uprising wouldn't be far behind."

"I'd gladly go back into the arena if it meant taking down Snow."

She eyes me shrewdly. "I think you very well might."

My birthday party is small – just me, father, Natare, Mara, Annie, and Mags. It occurs to me that I really need more guy friends, but considering that women flock to me like bees to honey, I guess it makes since that I know so many more women than men. We spend the day on father's fishing boat floating over a coral reef, sipping lemonade, sun-tanning, and swimming in the crystal clear waters.

"This is amazing," Annie comments more than once, because her parents were deep sea fishers and never brought her near the reefs. She's noticeably happier since I publicly humiliated Reef for her which, I have to admit, gives me a certain amount of pride. It feels good to use my natural propensity for violence for a good cause.

On the day of the Reaping, I sit in Natare's room on her bed as I watch the girls get ready. Since I'll be on television I made sure to dress up in a nice, striped shirt and pants, but since I'm a guy it takes all of five minutes. About halfway through braiding Mara's hair, Natare calls me over and tells me to help Annie while she goes to see how father's doing.

Annie watches me twist five strands into a complicated mess, and then slaps my hands away. "Honestly," she laughs. "You're a genius at knot-tying. Hair braiding is about a thousand times easier."

"Says you," I retort. "I'm not a girl."

"You don't have to be a girl to braid hair," Annie scoffs, and then pulls three thin locks of hair up vertically from Mara's hair. "Take these," she orders. "Now, left over middle. Okay, now right over middle. Left over, right over. See? Not so hard. Now just keep doing that until you run out of hair."

It's surprisingly soothing, braiding Mara's long, dark hair. The strands are nice and thick, so I don't feel like I might accidentally pull them out if I tug too hard. And having Annie as my partner in crime, standing next to me and humming a lullaby quietly, is astonishingly relaxing.

Then, after finishing my fourth braid, I realize that she's been steadily untwining the braids I've done and re-doing them in a much more elaborate style. "Why am I even helping, if you're just going to re-do it?" I complain.

Annie giggles. "Natare said to make sure you felt useful."

"I can do that—" I point at the braid she's currently half-way through. "Whatever that is. Show me how."

"This is a bad idea," Mara predicts.

Annie shushes her, and then obediently begins explaining the steps as she does them. I try and fail the first time, but my second attempt is passable, and the third is almost on par with hers. "See?" I say triumphantly. "There's nothing Finnick Odair can't do."

"Wow," Natare says, coming up behind me to examine our handiwork. "Not bad, Finnick. We'll make a girl out of you yet."

"Ha ha," I say, and then pat her braided head because I know it annoys her. A thought occurs to me, and I turn to Annie. "So you don't even braid your hair on Reaping day?"

Annie looks down, and Natare and Mara get suddenly uncomfortable. "Annie's mother used to do her hair," Natare murmurs.

"Ah," I wince. "Sorry. I didn't know."

Natare still lets father and her friends braid her hair even though she lost mother, but Annie must have formed a special connection in her mind between her mother and braiding. It doesn't surprise me in the least. My own mother used to sit at my bedside and pull a coral comb through her hair – any time I see a coral comb, I get this horribly lonely feeling that depresses me for the rest of the day. At least coral combs are expensive, so people don't walk around the District with them all the time, whereas half the girls wear their hair braided.

We proceed to the main square and split off for our separate rally points. Since I'm mentoring this year, I don't go over to Mags and the other victors, but head straight for the side stairs that lead up to the stage. I wonder what poor kid I'm going to have to send to his death. Hopefully I'll get a Career – it's hard to feel bad for someone who willingly enters themselves in this bloodbath.

The girls are called first, and a red-headed thirteen year old named Lacosta staggers up onto the stage, obviously lost in her own little world of horrors suddenly come to life. I sneak a peek at Mara and Annie, and see the looks of sadness mixed with relief – Lacosta must be a classmate, and possibly a friend. But there's also relief, because it means they're safe for another year.

When a sobbing twelve-year old kid is called up, a tall sixteen-year old who actually used to go to school with me bounds up onto the stage. I remember him well enough – athletic, obsessed with his personal honour, and constantly back-talking the teachers. A classic Career, and apparently the tribute I'll be mentoring. Well, I think, looks like I got my wish.

Andromache and I are called on stage, and when the crowd sees I'll be one of the mentors, they forget their distaste for the Reaping ceremony long enough to cheer loudly. I quickly raise a hand to silence them – Reapings shouldn't be joyous occasions, no matter how loveable I am. My thoughts are dripping with sarcasm, so I hastily refocus my attention on the proceedings.

"May the strongest prevail!" Pompey bellows.

As I'm heading for the stage stairs, Career boy hurries over to me, blocks my path, and thrusts out his hand. Since I'm obligated to, being his mentor and all, I shake it. "I didn't catch your name," I say.

"Calamari Mountain," the kid says. Not kid – he's the same age as me. And then my brain processes what he said. "Call me Cal."

"You're kidding," I say flatly.

Calamari Mountain is taller than I originally thought – he actually has a few inches on me, not to mention he's ripped. "Got a problem with my name, twerp?" he growls.

I arch an eyebrow at him. "That's 'Mentor' Twerp to you," I remind him. "Since apparently no one's told you, I'm in charge of you. And I'm not talking just training. Every shiny silver package that floats out of the sky for you in that arena will be my doing. So I would try very hard not to piss me off, if I were you. Calamari." I can't contain a bray of laughter at that. "And wow, that's a bad name."

"Screw you," Calamari says. "I don't need your pity presents. I'll win this thing on my own!" He stalks off down the stairs, and is quickly rounded up by the Peacekeepers.

Andromache comes up behind me. "I like him," she says.

"I hate him," I reply cheerfully. "Want to switch?"

Andromache eyes her own tribute, who is now being shoved along with Calamari Mountain into the Justice building. "Normally I'd take the Career in a heartbeat, but neither of those two are getting far."

I feel bad for the girl, so I say, "Don't give up on her just yet."

She laughs in my face. "Like you didn't give up on fish-face the moment he called you a twerp."

"Hey," I snap. "It's Calamari – Cal, if you please – and I am going to do everything in my power to help him win the Hunger Games." I've never liked Andromache, and the longer I know her, the more I can't stand her. "See you on the train." I don't bother saying goodbye.


	24. Part 2: Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Eleven**

The evening train ride to the Capitol is excruciating. Cal is possibly the rudest, most narrow-minded, loud-mouthed brat I've ever met – and I'm supposed to somehow mentor him. It would probably be easier if I had a few years on him, but since we're the same age, and he's one of the many people who attribute my win in the arena to my good looks, he has less than zero respect for me. And he has no problem telling me this, multiple times.

"...and at the opening ceremonies you really need to make a good first impression, because what they see out there will influence who they choose to sponsor," I am saying to the female tribute – Lacosta – when Calamari laughs loudly.

"A good first impression?" he says. "Why, because you batted your little pretty-boy eyes at those whores in the Capitol, you think you're qualified to give advice? A real man doesn't need sponsors – he relies on himself!"

Lacosta is a pretty smart girl, I find out pretty quickly. She is obviously terrified about the Games, but this doesn't stop her from eyeing Cal with total contempt. I start to suggest that if Cal hates me so much, why doesn't he take Andromache instead – they deserve each other – but I have to stop myself, because of course I already told Andromache how determined I was to see Cal win. Although if it comes down to a contest between him and Lacosta, I'll personally send a poisoned dagger to the girl so she can kill fish-face in his sleep.

"Those are very good points," I bite out, and I see Andromache grinning. Horrible, horrible woman. "So if the Gamemakers were to do something like – I don't know – send you a firestorm and you got burned to a crisp, you'd prefer that I didn't send you any burn cream? Hypothetically." I wonder who I'd have to sleep with to see that little scenario actually play out in real life.

"Laugh it up," Cal says. "You're my mentor – you're legally obligated to help me, whether you want to or not. So stop your lame little pretty-boy posturing and go do something that's actually useful."

"Actually," Lacosta pipes up, "There's nothing in the rules about that. Mentors are here to mentor us, and nothing else. It's completely up to them what that mentoring entails. And you can't exactly fire a mentor, since we're not paying them, are we?"

I decide that I really will send Lacosta all Cal's donations if I can get away with it. "Got a rebuttal for that, Calamari?"

"It's Cal!" the kid bellows. "Go to hell, Odair, I don't need help from an asshole like you!" He jumps to his feet and storms off to his cabin.

"That went well," Andromache murmurs.

"Could you possibly be less subtle about your disdain for us?" Lacosta says sarcastically.

Instead of getting angry, Andromache looks intrigued. It's a new emotion for her, and I hope it bodes well for Lacosta, because I'm really starting to like her. "Got the skills to back that mouth up?" she demands.

"No," Lacosta says. "But I'll learn, if you're willing to stop mocking Finnick long enough to pay attention to your tribute."

I can feel myself growing closer to this feisty girl, and I immediately clamp down on my emotions. This girl is going to be dead in three weeks, I tell myself firmly. Don't get attached. You're only going to regret it later.

"You heard Lacosta," I smirk at Andromache. "Get going. You've got mentoring to do."

She gives me an absolutely poisonous look, then snaps her fingers at Lacosta and sweeps off into her cabin. Lacosta shoots me a grateful smile, then hurries after her mentor. I've done all I can for you, I think. I made Andromache notice that you exist. What you do with that is up to you.

We get into Capitol at twilight, and we head into the Training Center. Since I haven't been there since my own time as a tribute, some bad memories resurface, but nothing I can't handle. Especially with Cal there, watching me like a hawk in case I slip up and show any emotion other than blatant hostility – which is directed at him, of course. I've basically given up on mentoring Cal. If he wants to go it alone, then it serves him right.

Cal is convinced that there is some sort of secret training facility in the tower besides the one we see on the TV, where all the tributes meet up at night to discuss tactics and form alliances. I not-so-patiently explain that he's an idiot, and after a twenty-minute shouting match I go into my room and slam the door. Cal bangs on my door for another ten minutes, then insults my dead mother and lumbers off to his own room.

The next day is opening ceremonies, and I gladly hand him over to Germanicus. Let him deal with the most despicable tribute to ever come out of District 4. But now I'm left with an entire day with absolutely nothing to do. Andromache sits in the common area, flipping through TV channels with a bored expression on her face, so after some deliberation I join her.

"Anything good?"

"Just re-runs of past Games," she says. "Oh look, there's Enobaria. Clawing out some kid's throat. I'm surprised they didn't stick her in a nut house when she got her teeth surgically altered."

I remember Enobaria well enough. She was one of the District 2 Careers, hooting and hollering at the Victor's Spire auditorium screen. Not a pleasant woman.

"Are we not allowed to go over to the Spire while our tributes are... occupied?" I ask.

Andromache waves dismissively. "Do whatever you want. Technically we're supposed to be coming up with strategies, but I've already got one for Lacosta."

Interested, I ask her what it is.

"Grow about a foot and learn how to throw knives."

"I'm impressed," I say. "One of those is actually plausible."

"Not in three days, it isn't," Andromache snorts. "Girl's not living through this, whether she wants to come to terms with it or not."

"Why do you even bother to volunteer to mentor if you don't give a damn about any of these kids?" I demand angrily.

Andromache ignores me.

There's a rap at the door. Grateful for an excuse to get away from this woman, I go and open it up. An avox stands in front of me, holding a sealed envelope. "For me?" I ask. He nods. I open it up and read:

_Finnick, my boy,_

_ Mrs. Juno Crassus requests the pleasure of your company this afternoon. She was one of your main sponsors. Have fun, but remember that she's a paying customer!_

_President Snow_

"Delightful man," I mutter. The avox is still staring at me. "What, you want me to come with you right now?" He nods again. I sigh. "Lead on."

I take a car from the Spire through the winding streets of the candy-coloured Capitol, and end up in front of a massive, golden apartment building. "Thanks," I tell the driver as I step out. He shrugs, then zooms off down the road.

When I enter the lobby, there's a uniformed attendant ready to escort me. Mrs. Juno Crassus lives on the thirty-second floor – penthouse, of course – and, the attendant informs me, is very excited to meet me in person. "I live in 302, if you're looking for someone a little... younger," she adds, eyes glinting wickedly.

I ditch her as politely as possible, then walk up to the ten-foot high golden door that presumably leads into Mrs. Juno Crassus' suite. Just as I'm about to reach for the knocker, the door flings open and Mrs. Juno Crassus stands before me in all her middle-aged, sequined lingerie, orange afro-ed glory. "Finnick!" she gushes, running her eyes unashamedly over my body. "Oh, you're even more handsome in person, if that's even possible!"

"Oh, but I'm sure you have the same reaction every time you look in a mirror, Mrs. Crassus," I say, positively oozing charm. If I can convince myself that this woman – and this entire situation – doesn't make my skin crawl, then maybe I'll be able to convince her as well.

She gives a delighted laugh, as if I'm the wittiest man she's ever met. "Oh, sweetling, it's Juno to you. And why are you standing out in the hallway like a servant? Get that gorgeous little tush of yours in here!" Juno flounces off into the depths of her luxurious apartment, and I follow hesitantly, making sure to take off my shoes at the door so I don't track any dirt on her solid-marble floors.

"Just relax on the couch!" Juno calls, and I hear a tinkling of glass. "I'll be along in a moment!"

So I sit down on the huge white couch – which could fit about ten of me – and try to adjust to the size of this place. My house in Victor's Village is large, but Juno's apartment seems purposely designed to make everything seem as huge as possible. Each wall is painted with a different landscape, so it feels as if you're staring out through a wall-sized window into another world. The decorating scheme seems to be that you can't have too much gold. Even the glass doors leading out to the balcony are tinged gold, which I find just plain poorly-planned, because it completely obscures the view of the city. Isn't the point of glass that you can see through it?

Juno struts into the living room holding two golden goblets, which are undoubtedly filled with wine. People in the Capitol love wine. When Saffron, Cashmere, and I frequented the clubs last year, it was pretty much a given that we would all stumble home a few hours later sloshed from the glasses of wine that never seemed to run dry.

"Delicious," I pronounce, after taking a sip. But I falter here, because I have no idea how I'm expected to act. Does Juno intend to talk first, or skip straight to the main event?

"You know," Juno purrs, cuddling up so close to me that she's basically sitting in my lap. "I thought you were ever so brave in that arena. Racing away from that avalanche, fighting off all those horrible children trying to hurt you..."

Straight to the main event, then. "If I'd known such a lovely lady was looking down on me, I would never have had cause to despair," I say in my seductive voice.

Juno seems to crave my praise, because she whispers, "Who do you think sent the clam chowder?"

I affect a surprised but delighted look. "That was you? My dear Juno, I can't thank you enough. If it hadn't been for that kind gesture, well, I might have given up then and there." Once again my acting skills get a run for their money, because I'm pouring on the lies thick now. "However can I thank you?"

"Oh," she drawls, hooking a finger through the collar of my shirt. "I'm sure I can think of a way."

**A/N: Due to my lack of ability to count, Annie will now be taking place in the 70th Hunger Games, rather than the 68th. Sorry about the skewed timeline, but I think you'll find that it doesn't really change the story in the overall grand scheme of things. **


	25. Part 2: Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Twelve**

Juno walks me to the door after our afternoon tryst. She's glowing, and keeps finding reasons to maintain as much skin contact as possible with me. On some level I feel that male satisfaction that comes from rocking her world, but mostly I just feel dirty and manipulated. When I've opened the door and am about to step outside, Juno throws her arms around my neck and kisses me passionately. I respond, and we stay there for a few minutes making out.

Then she pulls away, and she looks miserable that I'm leaving. "Will you come back?" she asks.

"I'd love to, darling," I say. "But I have responsibilities."

Juno reaches into her robe pocket and pulls out a golden chain, hanging from which is a massive sapphire. "To match your eyes," she says, teary-eyed. "Wear it and think of me?"

"Always, my love," I croon, and we start making out again.

Snow wasn't kidding, I think as I take the elevator down to my waiting car. These women will legitimately fall head over heels for me and lavish me with gifts, as long as I smile a few times and then bang them. It seems so surreal, because I don't know any girls in District 4 who would act like that. But then, this is the Capitol, and things are a little twisted here.

I tuck the gaudy necklace into my pants pocket as the driver brings me back to the Training Center. "Does Capitol have a black market?" I ask.

"There's always a black market," the driver grunts noncommittally. I decide to wait until the end of these Games before trying to sell the sapphire, in case Snow makes me go see Juno again. She probably wouldn't take it well if I told her that I sold the token of her affection to the highest bidder. Although isn't that how she managed to make herself my first Capitol lover? The hypocrisy of these people is mind-boggling.

By the time I get back to the Training Center, the opening ceremonies are set to start in a few minutes, so I go directly to the ground level, where all the tributes should be getting onto their horse-drawn chariots. I spot Cal and Lacosta easily enough – Germanicus has them dressed as sea horses, which is kind of hard to miss.

"There you are," Cal sneers as I saunter over to them. Andromache glances at me for a minute, and then, to my complete surprise, looks away uncomfortably. Impossible, I think. She knows what Snow is making me do, and she actually feels bad about it? I file this thought away for later cogitation.

"You look incredibly stupid," I inform Cal, because insulting him will make me feel better about the fact that I just sold my body to an orange-haired, attention-starved housewife.

"Get stuffed, Odair," he snarls. "I saw that stunt you pulled last year – you really think I'm not ripping off this hideous hat the second we get through those doors?"

"And yet people will still cringe at your face," I observe. "I'd stick with the hat."

"The rules have changed," Lacosta pipes up. "Any tribute who fails to wear the complete outfit given to them by their designer will face severe consequences."

"Germanicus must have complained," I shrug. "Sucks to be you, Calamari."

"Cal!" he bellows. Somewhere above our heads a horn sounds, signalling that the chariots will be rolling out momentarily.

"That's our cue," I say, then twiddle my fingers at Cal. "Smile pretty for the nice Capitol people, darling."

Lacosta has to grab Cal's arm to prevent him from leaping off the chariot and tackling me. "I'll kill you!" he screams, foaming at the mouth.

"Good attitude," I approve. "Save it for someone who cares."

The District 4 chariot disappears through the huge double gates, and I turn to see Andromache laughing. "Problem?"

"You're alright, pretty-boy," she says, patting me on the shoulder. Then she walks off, shaking her head and chuckling.

Since Cal seems pretty intent on strangling the life out of me, I go to bed early and make sure the door is locked, just in case the sneaky bastard decides to slit my throat in the middle of the night. When I wake up the next morning, I lie in bed for at least half an hour, reflecting on my visit with Mrs. Juno Crassus. It was humiliating and infuriating, as I'd suspected, but definitely not the end of the world. Now sure that I can survive whatever future tasks Snow has lined up for me, I take a deep breath, let it out, and then go get ready for the day.

When I leave my room, I find Cal, Lacosta, and Andromache sitting civilly at the dining table. This kind of throws me, until Cal turns in his chair, sees me, and chucks a butter knife at my head.

I catch it an inch from my face. Then I walk over to Cal, whose other hand is draped lazily beside his plate, and I slam the knife down in between his index and middle finger. He jumps halfway out of his seat and shouts, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Says the idiot who threw a knife at his mentor," I return calmly. "Get over yourself, Calamari. You may be a Career, and you may be the same age as me, but I can and will kick your ass if you keep pissing me off. Don't forget it."

Cal sulks and sinks down into his chair. Satisfied, I sit down beside Lacosta and strike up a friendly conversation. After the meal, Andromache begins to talk to Lacosta about her training strategy, so I turn to Cal to do the same.

"I don't need your advice, pretty-boy," Cal dismisses.

"Whatever," I shrug.

Mentors are supposed to watch their tributes during training, of course, so I go with Andromache to a special one-way glass viewing area that lets us look down on the training room. "What do we do now?" I ask Andromache.

"Observe and make notes on how to help our tributes improve," she replies.

"That's only if you're a stick in the mud like Andromache," a familiar voice says. I turn and see Haymitch stagger into the room, clutching a bottle of wine – he's already drunk – followed by a tall, dark-skinned, one-armed guy who's carrying a bag full of clinking bottles.

"Until Haymitch and Chaff arrive," Andromache corrects sourly.

"How are our little sacrificial lambs doing today?" Haymitch grins, staggering over to me and shoving a bottle into my hands. "Look at that show-off at the knives station – he won't last a day."

I glance at the knives station – sure enough, Cal is flourishing his arms around and jumping up and down with a knife. The booth attendants retreat to the edges of the booth and look at each other nervously.

"His name is Calamari Mountain," I say. Haymitch and Chaff burst out laughing – although considering their state of inebriation, they'll probably laugh at anything – and I smile and take a sip from my bottle. It's foul stuff, and burns on the way down.

"Too strong for you, pretty-boy?" Haymitch jeers.

I roll my eyes. "Could you be more jealous?"

Before Haymitch can respond, a tall, stocky woman enters the room, and she looks even unhappier then all of us put together, which is quite a feat. "Problem, Cathy?" Chaff says genially, holding out a bottle. She accepts and takes a huge swig. I recognize her from the vids – Cathy is the only living female victor from District 7, so she has to mentor every year.

"Not that my tributes are ever any good," she complains, sitting down heavily beside me. "But this year the girl is just useless."

I do my let's-all-laugh-at-Cal's-stupid-name shtick, and it manages to draw a small smile from the intimidating woman beside me. "Which one's yours?" I inquire.

Cathy points over to the sword booth, where a dark-haired girl about a year younger than me is shying away in fright as the trainer tries to make her hold one of the blades. "She spends all the time cowering in corners, looking around like a startled rabbit," Cathy laments. "Utterly hopeless."

"I knew someone like that," I say, thinking of Calliope, my very weepy, and now very dead, ex-District mate.

"Ugh," Cathy grunts.

The three training days pass surprisingly quickly – although this is expedited by the fact that we mostly end up drinking the day away, insulting the Games and the Capitol in loud whispers and generally drowning our sorrows in wine. Andromache never participates, but she doesn't seem offended by it either.

On interview day, I'm scheduled to spend four hours with Cal working on his image. He sits on an armchair across from me, arms crossed and looking like a petulant child with extreme anger issues. "So," I say after a few minutes of silence. "How are you planning on playing this?"

"I'm going to kill them all," he says.

"You can't kill Caesar Flickerman," I tell him patiently. "And the audience will be behind a force field."

"Not them," Cal snaps, baring his teeth at me. "The other kids."

I arch my eyebrows. "I doubt you'll get very far. The Peacekeepers would probably put you down before you did too much damage."

"I mean in the arena!" he bellows.

"So, what you're going to do," I say, making sure I have this right, "is go up to Caesar, tell him that you're going to kill all the other kids and then, what? Glare at the audience for the rest of the three minutes?"

"Got a problem with that?"

"How about try answering his questions?" I suggest reasonably. "You can still express your deep-seated desire to decapitate innocent children, but if you do it in the format of an interview you'll show them that you're at least somewhat capable of civilized interaction."

The most I can draw from Cal by the end of the session is a promise that he'll try to answer at least two questions – but only if they aren't "lame". In the end I throw my hands up in the air, tell Cal that at the very least he's going to make me laugh, and then leave him in the trembling hands of Germanicus and the triplets. Apparently they find Cal's increasingly volatile behaviour more troubling than I do.

Andromache and I get front row seats for the Hunger Games interviews, since we're mentors and presumably give a damn whether or not our tributes represent themselves well. I consider flashing Cal an obscene hand gesture right before he starts his interview, just for the satisfaction of seeing him fly into a rage, but decide against it. Mostly because he'll probably act like a rabid idiot all on his own.

Sure enough, after Lacosta has a sweet interview with Caesar that establishes her as a sarcastic but hopeful little doll, Cal bounds up on stage and declares, before Caesar can say a word, "I'm going to kill all you lame-ass tributes, and I dare you to try and stop me!"

I slap my hand against my face.

"Well, that's certainly a bold strategy," Caesar says, obviously trying to regain control of the situation. "But before we get into that, Calamari—"

"It's Cal!" he bellows. "The next person to make fun of my name is going to get a fist pounding!"

"Any girls back home?" Caesar tries.

"Boys and girls!" Cal shouts. "I'll take them all down!"

To my surprise, Caesar glances down at me. I realize that he must know I'm the mentor, and he's now asking me if my tribute is completely out of his mind. Cal is looking pretty unhinged, so I make a throat slicing gesture with my hand, and Caesar gets it immediately.

"How very interesting," Caesar says, making a little dismissive gesture toward the Peacekeepers flanking the stage. "Well, we've run out of time, Calamari. We look forward to seeing how you do in the arena."

The cameras flit away just before Cal is jumped by the Peacekeepers, who drag him off the stage. One of the producers must decide that Caesar needs a minute to recover, because someone shouts, "Five minute break."

Caesar waves off the gaggle of attendants who've started to wipe at his face, comb his hair, etc. Then he catches my eye again and beckons me over. Well aware that the entire audience is watching my every move, I leap up onto the stage and stride over to him. "What?"

"You might have warned me that your tribute was a raving lunatic," Caesar complains, not nearly so genial when the cameras aren't on him.

"Sorry," I say contritely. "He's been unsteady, but I didn't expect the idiot to go completely rabid."

Caesar glances over at the Gamemakers' table. "They want to know if Calamari Mountain is going to be a problem."

I arch an eyebrow. "You mean, will he go crazy and try to cannibalize people? I don't think so, but I wouldn't put it past him."

Caesar leans closer to me and mutters, "I've got it on good authority that your tribute will not be surviving the Games. Don't waste your time." Well, if I'd ever wondered whether or not the Games were rigged, I just got my answer.

"Thanks for the heads up," I say, clapping Caesar on the shoulder. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that the cameras are rolling, recording this lovely moment between victor and interviewer for posterity. "Smile for the cameras," I murmur, and Caesar and I make a big deal of embracing and shaking hands. There's no real point to it, other than to amuse me, because I'm quickly discovering that there's nothing more fun than manipulating the sheep-like Capitol populace.

"Back on air in ten!" one of the producers shouts. I blow a kiss to the audience, which half the women pretend to catch, and then return to my seat.

"Since when were you and Flickerman friends?" Andromache asks as I sit back down beside her.

"Watch the show," I say.

I have to hand it to Cal – no one is going to forget his interview. It's definitely shaping up to be the most interesting, by far. Actually, the only other interview I really pay attention to is Johanna Mason, the cringing girl from District 7 that Cathy has spent the last three days complaining about. She goes up to Caesar, sits down, babbles incoherently for three minutes while Caesar makes a valiant attempt at looking interested, then bolts back for her seat. Strange girl, but I quickly forget about her – she's not exactly victor material.

When Andromache and I part ways back up on our floor, I see that Cal's door is slightly ajar. My mentor instincts tell me to go see how he's taking his forceful removal from the interview, so I step inside. Cal is lying on his bed, which surprises me – I'd have thought he'd be punching the walls in rage or something – until I see the heavy metal shackle attached from one ankle to the bedpost.

I have a sudden burst of compassion for Cal, and decide not to tell him that there's no way he's surviving these Games. Then Cal sees me, pulls a disgusted face and says, "What the hell do you want, pretty-boy?" and my pity disappears.

"I could ask you the same thing," I say evenly. "Did you ever think that maybe antagonizing Caesar might have negative consequences?"

"Just telling it like it is," he mutters mutinously.

It's at this point that I come to the realization that at some point, Cal has completely crossed over the line from belligerence and arrogance to full on self-delusion. He honestly thinks he's going to win, and that acting like a psychopath is going to help him do it. And nothing I say is going to change him. Someone must have screwed him up when he was a kid, and I don't have the time or energy to rehabilitate Calamari Mountain.

"Good luck tomorrow," I say, and then leave, mentoring done.


	26. Part 2: Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Thirteen**

It turns out that there really is a secret floor in the Training Center, except it's for the mentors, not the tributes. There's no elevator button for it, but if you hold down buttons 4 and 5 for three seconds, the lift will take you to the level that holds the Sponsorship Room.

The Sponsorship Room is a giant room that takes up the entire floor. It's lined with floor to ceiling windows that, at a touch of a button, change into monitors that give you unlimited access to any of the cameras in the arena. That way, supposedly, we mentors can keep track of the entire game and send our tributes whatever items we think will help them most in the long run.

This means that, although each mentor has their own workstation, all the mentors are crowded into one room. Haymitch shows up already tipsy, and nearly misses his chair when he tries to sit down. The female tribute from 6 has a morphling for their mentor, and the gaunt-faced woman spends most of the day twirling round and round in her swivel chair.

The Games start a few minutes after I arrive, and Andromache explains how I use my workstation to send my tribute gifts. There's a blank screen that will start filling with text if any donations come in from the Capitol. Beside it is what looks like a catalogue of every conceivable thing I could think of sending as a gift – food, weapons, medicine. One option is a llama. Why would a tribute possibly need a llama?

Then there's the joystick, which I will use to steer the silver parachute should Cal's insane interview actually win him any sponsors. I kind of hope that he pulls in a little money, so I can send him something really big and heavy and drop it straight on his head.

I watch with the rest of the mentors as the Games unfold. No one bothers to send gifts for at least the first day, so we mostly sit in silence, sometimes wincing or laughing when something happens. Cal actually is pretty ferocious, and although the Careers must have rejected him, he still manages to grab a sizeable backpack and an array of weaponry that should serve him well.

Lacosta also survives the bloodbath, as does Johanna Mason. The former sprints for the lake and swims out to a small island in the center – smart, especially if no one else besides Cal can swim. Johanna grabs a dagger from the cornucopia that's basically at her feet when she steps off the golden plate, and books it for the trees.

Three days in, things are proceeding at a fairly steady rate. We're down to thirteen tributes, including Cal, Lacosta, and Johanna. The Careers are in fine form, and are developing a surprisingly elaborate search system that they use to flush out their prey. They are tracking down a ruddy-faced kid from District 3 when I realize that Cal has reached the lake and is obviously contemplating swimming across.

Since he killed a girl during the bloodbath on the first day, I have no doubt that he'll attack Lacosta if he finds her. Cal has gotten a few donations, to my surprise, so I do the only thing I can think of. I punch the button for inflatable water wings, and float them down onto the top of his waiting head.

"What the hell?" Cal shouts on my screen, grabbing the package. He peers up suspiciously at the sky, apparently realizing that I must have sent it to him. "What are you playing at, pretty-boy?"

Cal rips it open, sees the water wings, and goes berserk. He rips the fragile plastic into dozens of tiny pieces with his knife, and shouts, "Treat me like a toddler, Odair? Think I can't swim? How dare you insult me, I'll kill you, I'll mangle your pretty little face and stomp on it and—"

He proceeds in this vein for some time, so I hit the mute button and lean back in my chair, satisfied. A lot of the other mentors are so intrigued by my tribute's temper tantrum that they gather around, pointing and laughing. "What's with the water wings?" Haymitch slurs, hanging on to the back of my chair for support.

"I knew it would piss him off," I shrug. "Also, every time he looks at the lake, all he'll think of is how furious he is with me, and hopefully that will stop him from going to the island."

Haymitch's eyes flash with understanding. "Where the girl is. Using gifts to communicate with your tribute, in a way that only you and them can understand. That's pretty damn smart, Odair."

"I try," I say modestly.

He taps a finger against his chin thoughtfully, then lumbers off towards Chaff to get another drink. Sure enough, once Cal vents his anger he turns and heads back into the woods, shooting the lake a poisonous look as he goes. "And so Lacosta lives another day," I say.

Andromache shoots me an annoyed look. "I don't need your mind games to keep my tribute alive, Odair."

Since I don't care what she has to say, I ignore her and return to watching the Games.

On day five, things suddenly take a very unexpected, very dramatic turn. Cal is crashing through the underbrush when Johanna Mason is suddenly before him, cowering and looking absolutely terrified. Cal starts to cackle, and draws out his sword to kill his trembling prey. But, when he gets within striking range, Johanna suddenly dodges to the side, slaps his sword away, and then drives her single dagger straight through Cal's heart.

I sit frozen in my chair, unable to process what I just saw. Not only did the snivelling girl from District 7 just kill Cal, she has this look of gloating triumph on her face as she starts to root through his pack for anything she can use.

I swivel around in my chair and find Cathy across the room. "Oy!" I shout at her. "Your tribute just murdered mine!"

Cathy looks as bewildered as I feel. She gets to her huge feet and lumbers over to me. "Play it again," she requests, and I do. Other mentors, busy with their own tributes, catch glimpses of what's being shown on my screen, and soon Johanna's slaughter of Cal is all over the walls of the Sponsorship Room.

"Smart girl," Cathy says. "Hiding her killer instinct so no one pays her any attention. Did you know she got a 1 in training? An actual 1. I was considering killing her myself, to spare her the bloody death she'd get in the arena."

Having assumed that this was a strategy Cathy and Johanna must have worked out, I blink and say, "She didn't even tell you what she was planning?"

Cathy shakes her head, but she doesn't look upset. In fact, she has an eager glint in her eyes. "These Games just got a lot more interesting," she says with big smile.

As much as I'd like to stick around the Sponsorship Room and watch Johanna outfox everyone, my tribute is dead and my official obligations have ended. Although most mentors just stay after their tributes die, or head back to the Victor's Spire, Snow has other plans for me.

Almost as soon as I step off the elevator onto the fourth floor, an avox comes up to me with a slip of paper. It's from Snow, and cordially invites me to go make passionate love to Ms. Olivia Sextus the Second. I get in the car, push the part of me that can't stand my current situation to the back of my mind, and get ready to fulfill my part of the bargain.

The Games last another week and a half. By the time they're over, Snow has set me up with four different women in total. The fact that the women I'm seeing are calling in favours to spend another night with me bodes well, because it means my plan to seduce the female populace of Capitol is succeeding. Every night is spent out at some fancy club, or a five-star restaurant, or a gala ball, and it always ends with wild monkey sex, a tearful goodbye the next morning, and an expensive trinket of some sort.

As I get to know my craft better – yes, seduction is now officially my craft – I begin to experiment. Whisper sweet nothings in the lady's ear while we cuddle, and the trinket will be more expensive. Make love to her multiple times, and in the aftermath she'll answer any seemingly-innocuous questions I ask. I learn some fascinating things – stories of incest, and poisonings, and family rivalries. Nothing that I can see any immediate use for, but I store it all away in my infallible memory because I know that it will come in handy one day.

By the end of the Games, my attitude towards my Capitol "profession", if you can call it that, has altered. I don't hate the idea of prostituting myself to these women anymore, because on the whole they aren't bad people. They're products of the system, brought up to think that it's alright to purchase a night of pleasure from an unwilling man if that's what they feel like doing. It's all immediate gratification for them – not just the women, but the men as well, which I think is why all the women I sleep with are so starved for attention and affection. It's child's play to make these women fall in love with me. This isn't to say that I'm alright with my current situation – not by a long shot – but all my anger is now firmly directed toward President Snow. And if I can find a way to hurt him by exploiting the situations he puts me in, then all the better.

Johanna Mason, the cowardly District 7 girl turned vicious murderer, emerges as the victor. I never would have guessed it at the start – no one would have – but her ploy pays off. The Careers kill off the rest of the tributes – Lacosta included – and instead of tracking down "that spineless District 7 girl", they fall to in-fighting. Only two survive, one of them heavily wounded, and Johanna picks them off easily. She gets her hands on an axe – District 7 is the lumber sector – and makes short work of her opponents.

As we take the short train trip back to District 4 – all the victors are allowed to mingle, now that our tributes are dead – the only topic of conversation we have is Johanna and her brilliant ploy. It's been done before, but she pulled it off the best, hands down. "I spoke to her briefly after the games," Mikael confides in us. "She's a brilliant actress. Just covering up that filthy mouth must have taken incredible skill."

I make a mental note to look up Johanna next year – or maybe when she comes by on the victory tour. Perhaps she'll have some acting tips for me.

Mags corners me just before we reach the District 4 train station. "How did it go?" she asks. I smile and pull a bag of sugar cubes out of my pocket. Mags gives a sigh of relief. "I knew you could deal with it."

"Don't get me wrong. I still fully intend on strangling Snow with my bare hands for the crap he's putting me through," I tell her. "But I think I can handle being a man-whore. I have to, for one, and the Capitol women aren't as villainous as you made them out to be. Mostly they're just really lonely."

"That doesn't make it alright, what Snow's making you do," Mags says fiercely.

"Relax," I tell her. "Have a sugar cube. I'll deal with this just like I do every other horrible thing in my life – smile, flirt, and bear it. That probably makes me sound jaded, but it's true. Because the only people who lose if I give up are Natare and father, and that's unacceptable."

"I lose, too," Mags says softly.

I smile and hug her tightly. "My mistake."

We stand together, eating sugar cubes and watching the seascape of District 4, our home, Natare and father's home, flash by, and I know that I'm making the right decision.


	27. Part 3: Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

_Part Three: The Crazy Girl Back Home_

**Chapter One**

"What do you think?" Annie asks, twirling around. The periwinkle dress she's trying on flares out around her knees as she spins. "Too girly? Too flirty? Not flirty enough?"

"Ask Finnick," Natare says dryly. "I hear he's something of an expert on women."

Despite my best efforts, rumours of my string of Capitol lovers and secret trysts have spread to everyone in Panem. Including my kid sister and her best friends. I roll my eyes and lean back in the chair that I stole from the dress shop clerk and dragged over to the changing rooms.

"Why are you buying a dress, anyway?" I ask, rocking back onto one leg and scratching some non-existent dirt out from under a fingernail.

Mara shakes her head. "Honestly Finnick, only you would follow three teenage girls around a dress shop for half an hour without even bothering to wonder why we're here."

Since I'm assuming Natare is financing the dress expedition – Mara and Annie, like most of District 4, aren't exactly rich – I direct the question at her. "Why is Annie buying a dress?"

"Because," my sister says, as if explaining something to a particularly obtuse child, "Annie is sweet on Blake Tray, a guy at her school, and Mara and I decided that the best way to boost her confidence is to get her something nice to wear when she asks him out."

My mind is already reeling from the fact that Annie is crushing on some guy, let alone that she's planning on asking him out. When did this happen? When did she grow up? I examine her closely, taking in her willowy form and sweet face. She and Mara must be almost sixteen, I realize. How did I miss that?

"You're beautiful," I say out of the blue.

Mara arches an eyebrow. "Okay, and what brought that on?"

"If you're trying to seduce Annie, Finnick, I absolutely won't allow it," Natare says firmly. Even she's grown up – did I miss that as well? I noticed when she had to start having her name put in the Reaping bowl two years ago, of course, but somehow it's never occurred to me that my sister and her two best friends have suddenly become teenage girls. Maybe I mentally kept them as little girls because my experience with women is very twisted and more than a little confusing.

"I'm not seducing anyone," I protest.

"That's not what I hear," Annie says demurely.

"Ha ha," I retort. "How did you three find out about my... affairs in the Capitol, anyway?"

"Word travels," Natare informs me. "Especially if the subject of a rumour happens to be your older brother. Did you really think that sleeping your way around Capitol for the past four years wouldn't attract any attention?"

I wince at the idea of my sister contemplating my torrid trysts. "Natare, you really shouldn't talk about things like that."

"Why, because it makes you uncomfortable?" Natare demands. "What part? My brother's transition from gentleman to gigolo, or the fact that I'm willing to talk about sex?"

I grind my teeth. "The second one."

Mara and Natare laugh loudly. "You missed out when you stopped going to school," Mara informs me. "That's practically all we talk about."

I clap my hands over my ears. "I don't want to hear this!"

"Do you really think I don't tell your baby sister all about the things I do with my boyfriend when we're alone?" Mara torments me.

Annie clears her throat quietly. "I don't know if I want this one," she says.

Natare and Mara instantly leap into action. "Don't worry, we'll find some more for you to try on," Natare assures Annie, then grabs Mara's hand and drags her off into the taffeta-festooned shop.

"I'm going to go change..." Annie mutters, and slips behind the thick blue changing room curtain.

I wait for a few seconds, then shuffle my chair closer to the curtain. "Hey, Annie," I call softly.

There's a muffled noise, and then she says, "What is it?"

"You don't have to stick up for me about the Capitol thing," I tell her.

She waits a long moment, and then asks, "Why did you call me beautiful?"

Of all the possible questions, she picks one I can actually answer. Relieved, I say, "Because I hadn't realized until that very moment that all three of you have grown up. I think it was the concept of you dating a guy that helped the realization sink in." There's an odd tinge to my voice – jealousy? I examine the idea for a moment, and then discard it. Why should I care who Annie dates? Except to know if he's a complete jackass, so I can track him down like I did to Reef a few years ago, and teach him a lesson with my fists on how to treat women right.

"It surprised me, too," Annie admits. "I mean, Mara has been dating for years, but I've never really had the inclination."

"Until now," I remind her.

Her laughter bubbles through the curtain. "Yeah, until now."

Mara and Natare return long enough to dump two armfuls of dresses into my arms, and then dive back into the store for more. As I begin the thankless task of sorting them out, Annie starts up the conversation – which is very unusual for her. I'm instantly put on the alert.

"Finnick," Annie says. "Why the women in Capitol?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do they... appeal to you in some way that the girls in our district don't?"

If only she knew. But I can hardly tell Annie that the reason I sleep my way around the Capitol each year is because Snow is making me – and if I don't comply, he'll kill Natare and father. So instead I say, "I have my reasons." Infuriatingly vague, no doubt, but the best I can come up with. Because if I told Annie the truth, she would definitely pity me, and I can't handle pity. Also, it just isn't something she needs to worry about, especially when there isn't anything she can do about it.

I hear her give a deep sigh. "I'm sure you do."

Annie eventually decides on a lacy summer dress, sea-green like my eyes. When I say decide, I mean that she stands still like a mannequin while Mara and Natare circle her six or seven times, criticizing every aspect of the dress, and then abruptly declaring that they love it. I'm surprised when they ask my opinion, since my fashion sense is infinitely inferior to theirs.

"You're a boy," Natare says patiently. "Annie is trying to impress a boy. Would you ask Annie out if you saw her in this dress?"

Since I'm looking at her right now and haven't asked her out yet, the answer is no, but that clearly isn't what they want to hear. "Absolutely," I say, and wink at Annie. "Brake will love it."

"Blake," Mara corrects, rolling her eyes.

"Whatever," I laugh.

When I get home, I hear clanking coming from the kitchen. I follow the sound, and see that father is home early from his day of fishing, and is in the process of making tea. Sitting down at a kitchen counter stool, I say, "So when exactly did Natare grow up? And how did you fail to mention it to me?"

Father gives a dark laugh. "I try to forget it every day. You think I like the idea of my little girl running around with boys, probably getting pregnant and hiding it from me..."

"At least she doesn't have a boyfriend."

"Doesn't she?" father blinks, then smiles down at the kettle. "Well, thank goodness for small mercies. Although I suppose it's only a matter of time." He pauses. "What brought this on, if you don't mind me asking?"

I get to my feet and shrug. "Just something Annie said. Mara, I'm used to seeing with boys, but Annie has always been... well, uninterested. And today she mentioned that she's planning on asking out – or possibly being asked out by, it was a little unclear – some guy called Blake." I scowl. "Why do all the guys who like her have such ridiculous names?"

Father arches his bushy eyebrows. "Jealous, son?"

This is the second time today I've had to consider this question. Interesting. "Not at all. It was surprising, that's all. I'm going to my room." Father gives a little wave of his hand, and I head for the door. I pause when he suddenly says my name. "Yes?"

"What's this I hear about... your activities during the Hunger Games?" father asks slowly.

If I thought discussing this topic with my little sister was bad, talking about it my father is ten times worse. "What have you heard?"

He looks down at the kettle, obviously uncomfortable about discussing this with me, but feeling that it's his paternal obligation to affirm or deny the tawdry rumours sweeping through our district. "That you've been... paying calls to several Capitol ladies," he says delicately.

"It's true," I say.

Father gets an angry look on his face and he slams the kettle down on the stove. "What did I tell you about inappropriate behaviour? Finnick, your little affairs are bringing shame to your family! Cliff, the butcher, laughed at me to my face! I suppose you're getting something out of this whole debacle besides the experience of bedding those primping Capitol floozies?"

I have to restrain a laugh, because I'd never thought I'd hear my father say the word "floozy". This would be a good time to tell him the truth, but if I'm wrong, and he can't handle it and tries to do something stupid like petitioning the mayor about Snow's threats, then my family is doomed. Besides, Snow came right out and told me not to mention the details of our arrangement to anyone – for all I know, he has hidden cameras watching me right now.

"It's my life, and I'll do what I like with it," I inform him, not rudely, just stating a fact. "I'm sorry that it's reflecting badly on you and Natare, but I have my reasons. I will not explain them to you, but I can assure you that I'm not just sleeping my way around the Capitol for the hell of it."

"Money?" Father barks. "Your lovers give you expensive trinkets, right? That's what the rumours are saying – Finnick Odair, male prostitute."

"I'm leaving now," I say. When I turn to go, I feel father's hand on my arm. His grip is tight, then painful, and all of a sudden I'm flashing back to my time in the Games four years ago. Before I realize what I'm doing, I've flipped father over my shoulder and onto the counter top. His arm breaks with a sickening crack.

"Arghhhh," Father groans, too much in pain to formulate words. Then he passes out.

I stand there in shock, unable to process what has just happened. The blood seeping from father's arm reminds me too much of Gemma's broken, bleeding body, not to mention all those broken, bleeding bodies that I caused. Natare wanders into the kitchen a moment later, takes in the scene, and shrieks.

"What happened?" she demands, rushing to father's side. "Finnick! What's going on?"

I snap out of it. "He grabbed my arm," I explain, and suddenly I'm frantic with guilt. "He was just angry, he didn't mean anything by it, but I flash-backed to the arena, and the next thing I knew he was lying there with a broken arm and..."

Natare's eyes are filling with tears. She's a strong girl, but she's no more used to dealing with medical emergencies than any other kid her age. Now that I've rejoined the rational world and am able to take the lead, Natare starts trembling and touches father's uninjured arm tentatively. Tears stream down her cheeks.

"I have no idea how to fix a broken arm," I tell Natare. "I think he's passed out from the pain. Stay here and keep watch over him. I'll go get Doctor Whitecrest. If he wakes up, explain what happened. If someone comes by the house, call them in, but do not leave father's side. Do you understand me?"

Natare nods quickly. I hug her shoulders briefly with one arm, then head for the door. I pause to look back at my father, but I can't do it – the guilt is too intense. So I shout, "It's going to be alright!" at Natare, and then sprint for the doctor.


	28. Part 3: Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Two**

Father doesn't speak to me for a month following the incident. Not that I give him much of a chance – since he's confined to land, I take the fishing boat out from dawn to dusk, venting my frustration and guilt over hurting my own father out on the fish. When I walk into the house one night and hear him grumble something about his boat being stolen, I go to the docks the next day and buy my own boat. I name it "Gemma", and because it's newer and has some amazing self-steering technology I can just stay out to sea for weeks at a time. Which I do.

By the time I get back, my eighteenth birthday has come and gone, and father has made a full recovery. When I walk into the house, after having been gone for nearly a month, Natare says, "Hey, Finnick," as if I'd never been gone, and father tilts his head toward me. The nonchalance of their greeting throws me, because I know I've been a horrible son. Breaking my father's arm, spending three weeks basically incognito, and then another three sailing and therefore completely inaccessible. And all the while leaving my fourteen-year-old sister to care for our aging, injured father.

I can't really explain why I left. Okay, yes, I can. I've done a damn good job of repressing my memories from the Hunger Games, and to have them all come out in one violent explosion completely unnerved me. I had to run, to get away from the people I love, so I couldn't hurt them anymore. And it worked – except it hadn't occurred to me until just now that they might be hurting more because I wasn't there.

"I'm sorry that I left," I say.

Again, rather than shouting or running me out of the house, Natare and father inexplicably act like my behaviour is completely normal and acceptable. "Don't worry about it," Natare says.

"My arm is completely healed," father adds. "Come and see for yourself."

The last thing I want to do is return to the scene of my crime, but I'm willing to do anything to repair the relationship between my father and I. I hesitantly enter the sitting room, where Natare is sitting on an armchair and father on the couch, and sit down beside him. "See?" father says mildly, twisting his unblemished arm towards me. "No harm done."

"No harm?" I explode. "I broke your arm! And ran off instead of sticking around to help you! And you're sitting here acting like that's a perfectly acceptable thing to do!"

Natare comes and perches on my arm rest. "Give us some credit, Finnick. Just because you've convinced yourself that the Hunger Games never happened doesn't mean we all have."

"To be honest, we were expecting an outburst like that sooner," father admits. "Capitol sent us a pamphlet from a psychiatrist when you came back, warning us to watch out for violent reactions, moodiness, that sort of thing."

I shake my head. "That was four years ago. None of it excuses what—"

"I shouldn't have pushed you like that, grabbed you," father says in a no-nonsense voice. "And I certainly shouldn't have shut you out afterward. I may not like what you're getting up to in the Capitol, but you're right – it's none of my business. You're a man now, Finnick, you're entitled to do as you please. And I should have remembered that."

"It's not like Finnick's on a crusade to deflower the entire female population of Capitol," Natare adds with a wicked smirk. "I'm sure the women are throwing themselves at him, not vice versa, and they know very well what they're doing."

"You can't just let me get away with this!" I snap, leaping to my feet and glaring down at them.

"We understand why you did it," Natare says softly. "And we love you."

This is too much for me. I break free of their sympathetic gazes and run for the docks. As I tear through the streets, people dodging out of the way and shouting curses, I have to work hard to stop myself from screaming with rage. Because I let Snow pimp me out every year to stop him from hurting my family, and now I've gone and done it myself. And they don't seem to understand that things could have ended so much worse. I've killed people before. If I hadn't reined myself in, I could have snapped father's neck as easily as I snapped his arm.

Ever since my weepy District mate Calliope, I've never been a fan of crying. I can feel the tears welling up now, so I ruthlessly squash them down. It's hard to tell whether or not I'm succeeding, because it's started to rain and soon I'm soaking wet from head to toe.

I skid onto the boardwalk and spot my sleek boat a few dozen yards away. Slowing my pace to accommodate the rain-slicked wooden flooring, I pad over to my boat. Then I freeze in my tracks, because Annie is sitting on a wooden post beside my boat, hunched over to protect her face from the downpour and shivering.

"Annie!" I shout over the wind and rain. "What are you doing here?"

She can't hear me – this gale is so bad that it might turn into a hurricane in a few hours – so I hurry over to her and grab her shoulders. Annie looks up, sees me, shouts, "Finnick!" and throws her arms around me.

"Come on," I bellow, motioning towards the boat. It has a specially heated cabin that automatically adjusts to the temperature outside. I pull Annie past me into the cabin, and then shut and seal the door behind me.

"F-F-Finnick," Annie says, teeth chattering. I grab a blanket from an overhead shelf, drape it around her, and manhandle her over to my surprisingly cozy bunk. "Th-thanks."

"Stay still and warm up," I order. "Tea or coffee?"

"C-c-coffee."

When I've finished brewing a pot from my well-stocked little kitchenette, I go sit beside Annie and hand her a cup of steaming coffee. She takes a few sips, and I'm relieved to see colour returning to her face. "Want to tell me why you were trying to drown yourself?" I ask when she's stopped shaking.

Annie frowns at me. "You disappeared for a month, Finnick. I heard you were back, so I came to see if you were actually still alive. Forgive me for caring."

"I appreciate it," I assure her. She still looks cold, so I wrap an arm around her shoulders. "But couldn't you have waited until it stopped raining? I know I'm irresistible, but all things in moderation."

These words have the desired effect. Annie smiles and sticks her tongue out at me. "I'm glad you're back," she sighs, leaning into me. "Things have been... complicated since you left."

"Complicated?" I blink. Then it hits me. "Blake?"

"He asked me out," Annie admits.

"And?"

"I said yes, obviously." But she doesn't sound very happy about it, so I stare at her until she elaborates. "Well, how could I not? Natare got me that gorgeous dress, and besides, Blake is everything I could possibly want – smart, handsome, kind. I'd have to be crazy to turn him down."

I eye her appraisingly for a moment. "You don't like him, do you?"

"I..." Annie hesitates.

"Why not?" I press. "He sounds great."

"He's not you," she says.

I immediately stand up and put a good few yards between us. "What?" I ask. Annie starts to rise and follow me, so I add, "Just sit down for a second."

She obediently sinks down and, while ringing her hands, babbles out an explanation. "I don't mean it like that – not the way you're thinking. I mean... you're my best friend, Finnick. And I don't have to tell you how wonderful you are – the rest of Panem's taken care of that for me. What I'm trying to say is that Blake is smart, yes, and nice, and cute, but... it all just seems to pale in comparison to you. Not in a romantic way! Do you... get it?"

Not at all, but she looks absolutely devastated. Is she afraid I'm going to cut her out of my life just because she... what? Thinks I'm so perfect that she views all other guys as inferior? "Are you saying that I've single-handedly condemned you to a life of spinsterhood?" I demand.

"No!" Annie protests. "Blake just isn't... he's not what I'm looking for. Alright? Forget what I said before."

She's confusing the hell out of me, so I willingly latch on to this new idea. "So why are you with him, if you don't like him?" I say, hopefully steering the conversation back onto less alarming ground.

Annie looks down at her hands. "I guess Natare and Mara were just so eager for me to find someone... and Blake was interested, and everyone seemed to think we would be the perfect couple, so I just decided to go along with it and give it a shot."

I've recovered enough from her "He's not you" bombshell to sit back down next to her. "And now that you have, you still don't care for him?"

"It's only been a few weeks," Annie says.

I catch her gaze and hold it. "Annie Cresta. Do you like him?"

"Not in that way," she admits after a long pause.

The solution is so simple that I almost laugh. "Then dump him. Happens all the time."

"No!" she protests, shocked.

"Why not? No point leading the guy on if you don't see it going anywhere."

"But Natare and Mara... and everyone..."

"They'll get over it," I advise her. "My sordid Capitol affairs story broke – what? – two months ago? No one could stop talking about it. Now how often is it brought up?"

"Only once in a while, now," Annie realizes, and her eyes blaze with hope. "But Natare and Mara were so excited..."

I rest my hand against her shoulder. "Annie, life's short. You do whatever makes you happy, and everyone else will just have to deal with it." A malicious smirk appears on my face. "If you want, I can have a really public confrontation with Blake, and you can take my side, and he'll be so pissed off that he'll dump you so you don't have to do the actually breaking up part. Think I can provoke him into hitting me?"

This has her laughing again. "I think I can handle it by myself," she assures me. "Thanks, Finnick."

I shrug modestly. "All in a day's work." Then a sudden thought hits me. "How furious is Mara that I disappeared?"

"She'll get over it," Annie promises. "Natare had a little talk with us about... well, the Hunger Games." She shudders. "I watched it, of course, but I didn't know you then so it didn't really hit home until Natare told us what you'd gone through." Before I know what's happening, Annie's hugging me tightly.

We stay like that for a long time. Eventually, Annie pulls away and says, "Think it's stopped raining?"

I get to my feet and crack open the cabin door. The sky is dark and the wind and rain have picked up speed. "Not exactly. It isn't going to go hurricane, but it will be pretty bad for at least a few more hours." I grin. "Looks like you're all mine, little Miss Cresta."

Annie adopts a scandalized look. "Whatever would the villagers say when they hear we spent such a long time together, unsupervised?"

I make an inviting gesture toward the door. "You can still depart with your honour intact, milady."

Annie smiles. "I'll risk the rumours. But only if you promise to regale me with tales of your weeks at sea."

I grab her mug and refill it with coffee. As I hand it to her, I say, "I have to warn you that it will be a terrifying tale. A month at sea changes a man."

"Will there be kraken?" Annie asks eagerly, eyes widening. "And mermaids?"

"Sure, why not," I laugh. "How about some unicorns as well?"

"Unicorns don't swim," she reminds me.

"These were special, nautical unicorns, with fins and gills," I explain.

Annie wriggles around until she's facing me cross-legged, holding the steaming mug in both hands over her lap. Laughing, I copy her position, and begin the story.


	29. Part 3: Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Three**

The 69th Hunger Games begin – my fifth time living through this nightmare – and I'm carted off to Capitol with the rest of the victors to sit around in the Victor's Spire catching up with old friends, drinking copious amounts of booze, and – in my case – continuing my one-man crusade to seduce the entire female populace of Capitol.

Snow dictates whose bed I'm destined to occupy each night, so once I've settled into Victor's Spire and had a pleasant dinner with some old friends of mine – Haymitch, Chaff, Mags, and Johanna – a shiny black car drives me to my first destination. Within minutes I'm in a silver and purple apartment, sweet-talking an attractive redhead while she makes goo-goo eyes at me.

I leave the next morning with a belt encrusted with precious gems, and an earful of secrets. Nothing earth-shattering, mostly just rumours of financial foul play and sexual deviance, but I store them away anyway. Miss Redhead isn't exactly a goldmine of information, but I caught a glimpse of her much-older, much more well-connected mother while I was there, and made sure to flash her my most seductive smile. Hopefully she'll request a night with Capitol's personal man-whore, and I can get some really juicy tidbits from her.

Johanna Mason is waiting for me when I return, as she's taken to doing ever since I befriended her two years ago. She won the 67th Games by pretending to be a complete weakling, and then ruthlessly gutting anyone that got in her way. On her victory tour, she ended up sitting beside me at the District 4 feast. What followed was a very memorable evening. And I've had my fair share of those.

About halfway through the third course, Johanna looks up from her bowl of clam chowder and says, "I hate the outfits my stylist makes me wear. I feel like a dress up doll. And I can't even take out this stupid bow in my hair because some idiot passed a law where we can't touch our officially sanctioned Hunger Games outfits. Ugh."

I chew a mouthful of salmon as I glance at what she's wearing. "I think it looks hot," I shrug.

"Men," she snorts, saying the word as if it were the worst possible insult. "I suppose you let your mommy dress you up in whatever pretty clothes she likes and prance around while people ooh and ahh."

"My mother's dead," I say, slurping from my wine glass. "And you should research your victors more carefully. They instituted that rule because of me."

Johanna looks interested despite herself. "What did you do?"

"Ever heard of Germanicus? Old-school stylist. Tried to dress me up as a fish – complete with googly-eyed, gaping-mouth hat. So I ditched the hat as soon as my chariot was through the doors. He must have been pretty pissed off to appeal to the Gamemakers."

Johanna eyes me in a scrutinizing manner. "So what's the penalty if I violate this rule you so kindly created for me?"

I try to think back to the memo I received a few months ago. "Nothing serious, I'd imagine. It was more for the tributes, anyway, than a victor."

Johanna's hand goes straight to her bow and rips it off her head. "Ah," she sighs. "So much better." I start to chuckle, but stop when her director flutters over a second later in an agitated state.

"What are you doing?" the chubby, blue-haired man gapes. He realizes that people are staring at the commotion, and hastily lowers his voice. "Johanna Mason, put the bow back in your hair this instant."

"Make me," she snaps back at him.

"It's my fault," I tell her director. "We were playing strip dinner."

Blue-hair bites back his harsh retort because he recognizes me – hard not to, considering I'm the most well-known teenage heartthrob in Panem. He clears his throat, summoning his meticulous Capitol manners. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mister Odair. My name is Barnabus."

"Pleasure," I schmooze, and we shake hands. Johanna watches our exchange with raised eyebrows.

"Er, if I may," Barnabus stammers. "What might strip dinner be, precisely?"

I'm at the corner of the huge rectangular table, so I signal a waiter to bring a chair over. Once Barnabus is firmly planted beside me, I explain the made-up-on-the-spot game-to-get-Johanna-out-of-trouble. "Strip dinner is kind of like strip poker," I say. "Ever played strip poker, Barnabus?"

Barnabus' face lights up. "As a matter of fact, I'm quite the hit at parties. Marcella Octus once said that I was the only man she knew who could bluff while wearing only socks!"

"Lovely lady," I say. "Tragedy, the divorce."

Barnabus seems surprised I know about this. "Well, Mister Octus had been... straying for quite some time." He leans closer. "With his sister, if you can believe it!"

Of course I can, since I heard the story from Mrs. Octus herself. "Strip dinner works on the same principals as strip poker, as I was explaining to your charming Miss Mason here when you joined us. Every time you try a dish you've never tasted before, you strip off an article of clothing. That way, the most well-tasted person wins."

Barnabus eyes the spread with dismay. "But I do believe have tasted every single dish on this table!"

"Shame," I tell him, then turn to Johanna, who is fighting to suppress a grin. "I believe it's my turn?" I say, and reach out to grab a spoonful of a thick red jelly. I taste a bit, grimace, and drop it to my plate. "That's a new one, and disgusting at that." I stand up and rip off my shirt with a dramatic flourish. All conversations grind to a halt as all eyes swivel towards me. "Strip dinner, pay us no mind!" I explain loudly.

Johanna gives a laugh of genuine delight and dips her finger into my red goo. Then she tears off her own shirt. Barnabus' eyes go very round, and then he faints. "I like your game," Johanna grins.

"I like you," I counter. "We should be friends."

She considers this. "I can not hate you. Is that good enough?"

"For now," I allow with an easy smile. "I believe it was my turn?"

By the time Barnabus is revived, I'm down to my underwear and Johanna is stark naked. The people here from my district are laughing under their breath, and the Capitol people are hysterical over this wonderful new game they've discovered. Johanna and I make a run for it before Barnabus sees what mayhem we've caused.

Since that night, Johanna and I have developed a very strange relationship. It's always been completely platonic, which surprises a lot of people, considering my reputation. And while I'm unfailingly polite, Johanna fluctuates between heartbreakingly sentimental, completely indifferent, and homicidal at the drop of a hat. Once, Chaff made the mistake of pinching her bottom in what he thought was a friendly gesture. Johanna broke his wrist and gave him a black eye that lasted for weeks.

So as I get back from my first tryst of the year, Johanna runs up to me and flings her arms around me. "Oh, Finnick," she moans. "I ache for your touch, your kisses, your throbbing—"

"Control your need to publicly humiliate me," I admonish her, clapping a hand over her mouth. She bites at my fingers, so I withdraw them. This would piss most people off, but it doesn't bother me because I know why Johanna acts the way she does – she's as damaged as I am, her psychoses just manifest themselves in a different way.

We stroll toward the elevator and get in. "Anything interesting happening in the slaughterhouse?" I ask.

Johanna hits the A button, which takes us to the auditorium level. "Opening ceremonies tonight. Your district has a Career in the running this year, so they should have a good run of it."

The doors slide shut. Immediately Johanna's voice drops and she whispers, "So?"

"Nothing we didn't know already," I say. "Incest, broken marriages, the usual."

Johanna scowls. "Still nothing on Snow."

"I'm getting there," I assure her. "Her mother got a good glimpse of me, and she's a pretty high-ranking government type. She might have some interesting secrets."

She nods. "I'll tell Haymitch."

"Has he said anything about the you-know-what?" I'm referring to the rebellion that Haymitch may or may not be in the process of organizing.

Johanna sighs and shakes her head. "Still at the information-gathering and member-recruiting stage. He says to tell you that your intel is going to be very useful. But we've got at least a few years to wait before justice is served."

The doors slide open, and suddenly I'm all smiles. "Well, considering how our last Career did, I don't exactly have high hopes for this one."

We step out into the auditorium, where most of the other victors have already gathered for the day's mandatory viewing. "Well," Johanna says as we go to sit at the front with the District 1 and 2 victors, "your Career's a girl this year."

A couple of victors like Saffron and Gloss wave a greeting, which I return. They don't much like Johanna, but they really like me so they put up with her. Mags is mentoring this year, or else I would be going to sit with her for a bit. "District 4 girls historically do better than guys," I agree.

"Except you," Johanna grins.

I shrug. "What can I say? I'm exceptional."


	30. Part 3: Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Four**

The Games begin in earnest a few days later. It becomes clear pretty quickly that the Careers will have their work cut out for them this year. A brawny eighteen-year-old from District 10 pulls an 11 in training, no doubt related to his massive muscles, and he refuses to join with the Careers. In his interview, he actually announces that he thinks any child who is trained as a Career should be lobotomized so scientists can figure out what's wrong with them.

About two weeks in on a particularly slow day, tribute-death-wise, an avox shows up on the first floor, where I'm watching the Games with Saffron and Cashmere. "Got to go," I say, getting to my feet. Saffron pouts up at me.

"Some old biddy stealing you away from us?"

I glance at the message the avox handed me. "Ice skating with Mrs Hortensia Flavius."

"Sounds dull," Cashmere sneers.

"See you lovely ladies later," I say, twiddling my fingers at them.

Hortensia Flavius is a square-jawed, unattractive woman in her thirties with obscene amounts of money. As soon as I arrive at the ice rink, she runs up to me, throws her arms around my neck, and then shoves a gift box in my hands. "For me?" I smile, oozing charm. "You shouldn't have."

"Oh, but I saw it in the store and thought that it would compliment your eyes so nicely!" Hortensia bubbles. There are a couple of women who have enough money or political clout to see me on a somewhat-annual basis, and Hortensia is one of them. This is our third "date", as it were, which makes my job a thousand times easier because it means she's already madly in love with me.

I pull out a sea-green silk scarf that, sure enough, matches the hue of my eyes perfectly. "Can I put it on you?" Hortensia asks, blushing like a school girl.

"Only if you promise to take it off later," I say with a wicked grin, and she's gone in a fit of giggles.

Later, when we're lying in bed recovering from a rather intense session, I make my move. Since her head is already pillowed on my shoulder, I tilt my head down until my breath is tickling her skin. "You're so beautiful," I say.

Hortensia sighs happily. "Oh, I wish I could just freeze this moment, so we could stay here like this forever."

"I wish we could too. But President Snow has other plans for me." I lace regret and longing into my voice, and she eats it up.

"I hate the way he trades you off to women for favours and money," Hortensia complains bitterly. "Why don't you tell him that you don't want to do all that anymore? That you want to be with me, and me alone?"

"I've tried, my love," I assure her. "But he has all the power."

She almost shakes with frustration. This is the moment I've been waiting for, pushing her just far enough so that she'll... "He's such a snake of a man," Hortensia bites out. "If more people knew the things he's done to get to that lofty presidential post, he wouldn't have the power he does now."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing," she backtracks hastily, apparently realizing that she's treading dangerously close to treason. So I seal my lips against hers and distract her.

Fifteen minutes later, we lay clutching each other and panting. "What were we talking about?" Hortensia asks dazedly.

"President Snow and his snake-like methods," I supply helpfully.

"Poison," Hortenisa murmurs. "The ultimate weapon of a political assassin."

It takes several goblets of wine and another tumble in the sack, but eventually I get the whole story. And what a story it is. When I get back to the Victor's Spire, I go straight for the auditorium. Johanna sees that I've returned, and slips out of her seat to come meet me outside. She'll tell Haymitch about this when she's sure no one will overhear.

Since victors aren't confined to the Spire, and I don't want anyone overhearing this, we go for a stroll. As soon as we're away from City Circle and are sure that no one is following us, I tell Johanna what I've found out. "President Snow didn't get to power through sheer political wiles. He poisoned everyone that got in his way, as well as allies who he feared were gaining too much influence. When people suspected him of trying to poison them, he would drink from the same cup to show that it was untainted. Except antidotes aren't foolproof."

Johanna nods, eyes widening in realization. "The rose?"

"He always wears one of those horrible scented roses to mask the smell of blood and pus oozing from the unhealed sores in his mouth," I say. "How's that for a juicy secret?"

She looks happier than I've ever seen her. "Haymitch is going to flip." Then her expression darkens into malicious excitement. "And Snow is going to pay."

"Don't get too excited," I caution her, laying a calming hand on her arm. This is one of the only places Johanna can be touched without freaking out and going for the throat. "Just tell Haymitch. He'll know what to do with the information, how to use it at the best time."

"He is good at that," Johanna agrees. Then she says, "Want to swim?"

I look around. We've wandered into one of the parks that crisscross through the Capitol, and this one has a shallow pond of crystal clear water. "I don't know," I say, lips twitching upward. "I have a reputation to maintain."

Johanna gives me a challenging look. "And you're saying that if a reporter happened to come across you swimming starkers in a pool, this would somehow make women less likely to want you?" I pretend to consider the idea. Then I start to take off my shoes. Johanna has a peculiar animosity towards clothes, and I have no particular issue with not wearing them, so we get along well. She grins and starts to take off her shirt.

We divest ourselves entirely of clothing and take a leisurely swim in the pond. A few couples walk by and scowl at our behaviour, but most seem amused, or eye us with undisguised interest. One man is so enamoured of our skinny dipping idea that he strips and jumps right in to join us. His name is Ricardus, as we soon discover, and as far as Capitol citizens go he is fairly pleasant company.

After a while Johanna starts to get tired – although I could swim all day and emerge as refreshed as if I'd just woken up – so we say goodbye to Ricardus, air dry for a few minutes, put back on our scattered clothes, and return to the Victor's Spire. We find Haymitch standing in the lobby and scowling at one of the screens set in the corners of the atrium.

"Hey," I greet, going to stand beside him.

"The girl finally kicked it," Haymitch sighs. "I thought she might make it for a second – she had some real fighting spirit – but no."

"Buck up," Johanna says, punching Haymitch's shoulder. The bottle in his hand sloshes at the sudden impact. "Finnick's got something to tell you."

Haymitch groans and slaps a hand over his face. "If it's more incest, do me a favour and don't tell me. Creeps me out."

"Not incest," Johanna beams. "Way, way better than incest."

Haymitch gives me a disturbed look. "If you say necrophilia, I'm going back to the Training Center right now."

"Gross," I say, although to be honest I have heard one or two rumours about this. "No, I found out something that you're really going to find interesting."

Haymitch finally starts to look interested. "Snow?"

I grin. "Oh yeah."

The next morning, I get a lunch invitation from an anonymous person. The avox simply shrugs when I ask who issued the invitation, because he doesn't have the ability to answer me. So I get in the car and speed off to the Sunset Lounge, where the tinted windows make it feel like it's always sunset, appropriately enough.

In the lounge, I sit at an empty table by one of the huge windows. The coral-coloured tablecloth is covered with golden cutlery and tableware. I wonder who my mystery lover will be – a young, lonely heiress who's been making googly eyes at my picture on the television screen for years, or perhaps a jaded old lady looking for a pleasant conversation with a good-looking young man.

Then Plutarch Heavensbee, one of the Gamemakers, sits down in front of me. "This is... different," I admit, arching my eyebrows.

"I'm not here to romance you," Heavensbee assures me. "I thought you might like to experience the splendour of the Sunset Lounge, and I've always been interested in meeting one of the Hunger Games' most famous victors."

I highly doubt that this is the case, but he's smiling craftily at me so I decide to play along. "It's everything I could have hoped for and more," I say, straight-faced. "Amazing, how they make it look like sunset by tinting the windows. They should patent the idea."

Heavensbee picks up his satin napkin and smoothes it on his lap. "I believe that they did. Wine?" I glance down at the wine list and pick the most expensive one, because it amuses me to do so. "You have good taste," Heavensbee compliments me, and he looks amused as well as he orders the bottle and some appetizers to go with it.

"Just appetizers?" I ask. "No lunch?"

"Disappointed?" Heavensbee smirks. "No, I won't be staying long."

"A business meeting, then?" I guess. "But what in President Snow's name could you possibly want to discuss with me?"

"I was chatting with a friend of yours the other day – Haymitch Abernathy," he says. "And he mentioned that you were in a position to acquire certain... secrets."

I freeze, hand halfway toward the bread basket in the middle of the table. "Did you, now," I say noncommittally, because I don't know what game Heavensbee is playing. If he's working for Snow, then anything I say could land me in jail, and my family six feet underground. But if he's in league with Haymitch and his fledgling rebellion... "And why did Haymitch tell you that?"

Heavensbee smiles serenely. "Let's just say that I share his fondness for... the liberation of the human soul. We're aspiring philosophers, Haymitch and I."

He leans across the table so closely that our noses are almost touching. "Tell Haymitch 'Guttersnipe'. He'll know what that means." Then Heavensbee hops to his feet, grabs my hand, shakes it, and meanders off towards the exit. The waiter comes by at that instant with three large appetizers and the bottle of wine.

"Will sir be returning?" the waiter asks.

"I don't think so," I say, watching Heavensbee's departure suspiciously. What could he possibly be playing at? "Guess I'm eating alone," I shrug, and dig into the delicious food now spread before me. I have to hand it to Heavensbee – he has good taste.

When I get back to the Victor's Spire, I find Haymitch on the roof, looking out over the city with an expression that would be pensive if not for the liquor fumes rolling off him in waves. "It's barely three o'clock," I note. "You started late."

Haymitch gives a growly laugh and waves me over. As I go to stand beside him, I say casually, "Plutarch Heavensbee took me out for lunch today." Haymitch doesn't look surprised, which is a good sign. It means that Heavensbee really is on the level. "He said to tell you the word 'Guttersnipe'."

"Guttersnipe," Haymitch says, apparently satisfied. "Remember that rebellion you were so gung-ho about joining a few years back?"

I nod, liking very much where this is going.

"Heavensbee and a few others are... involved in laying the groundwork," Haymitch says softly.

"They're Capitol," I remind him.

"They have their reasons," Haymitch assures me. "Today was a test, and Heavensbee's decided that he trusts you. They're interested in the secrets you've got floating around that pretty head of yours."

"I'm not sure I'm keen on telling someone I barely know all my deepest secrets," I say cagily.

"That's why you tell me, and I tell them only the parts that they need to hear. We're flashy public icons, but Heavensbee and his friends are in a position to do some real damage."

"Then why tell me about all this?" I press. "I tell you all the important stuff anyway."

Haymitch scowls at me. "Because I believe that a man has a right to know what he's getting himself into. You're a smart kid, and I think you can handle the truth. So I'm telling you the truth. We're planning a rebellion. It won't happen for years, but we've got some pretty important people on our side. Do you want in, or not?"

As if I haven't been waiting for this moment for years. "I'm in."


	31. Part 3: Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Five**

It's hard to fit back into my normal life now that I know there really is a rebellion and, even better, that I'm a part of it. This excitement isn't so much that I get to be a part of some greater, humanitarian cause, but that I'm finally one step closer to getting revenge on President Snow and his corrupt government for the horrors they've put me and the people I love through.

When I get back to District 4, I spend sunny afternoons lounging on my boat with Natare, Annie, and Mara. I find it hard to listen as they drone on and on about boys and clothes and all the other meaningless things they find so important. My mind swims with thoughts of the Capitol burning to the ground, of Snow being beheaded in the center of City Circle, of the looks on peoples' faces when they learn that they'll never again have to send their children off like cattle to a slaughter.

These dark thoughts are momentarily pushed aside one afternoon, however, when the girls start to talk about Blake, Annie's ex-boyfriend. Or so I thought. It turns out, once I pay attention to their conversation, that Annie never actually did break up with Blake like we'd discussed.

"I thought you broke up with him," I interject, not bothering to wait for a lull in the discussion.

Natare shoots me an annoyed look. "Why would Annie break up with Blake? He's only the sweetest guy in the world."

"I thought I was the sweetest guy in the world."

"You're the cutest guy in the world," Mara corrects. "The dreamiest as well. But Blake doesn't have a sordid history of Capitol affairs, so he's the sweetest."

I bite my tongue before I say something I'll regret. Turning to Annie, who is looking very uncomfortable all of a sudden, I say, "I thought you were going to break up with him."

"Are you jealous?" Natare gapes at me. Then she scurries over to me and hisses in my ear, "You never told me that you liked Annie!"

"I don't!" I snap. "Annie, what...?"

Annie gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head. I eye her meaningfully, as if to say, we're going to talk about this later whether you like it or not. She nods slightly, and I relax and jump to my feet. "Never mind," I dismiss. "I thought I heard that they'd broken up. Stupid rumour, although Annie's way too good for him. Who wants to go for a swim?"

Mara perks up. "Oooh, me!"

Annie elects to stay on board the ship, no doubt preparing her argument for why she came crying to me one afternoon about how she didn't like Blake and was going to dump him, and then went completely against her word. So Mara, Natare and I swim around in the water for a while, laughing and splashing each other. Once a sufficient amount of time has passed, I point out a pod of dolphins swimming nearby. As Mara and Natare splash off to investigate, I clamber aboard the ship, grab a towel to dry myself off, and catch Annie's eyes.

"Well?"

She looks down miserably. "I wanted to do it, but I just couldn't! You know how I live with my aunt and uncle? When they found out I was dating Blake, they were... more excited than I've seen them since my parents died. They've been worried about me – and no small part of that is because I've been spending so much time with you."

"Me?" I say, taken aback. "What's wrong with me? I'm a victor!"

"Yes," Annie says patiently. "Which means you've killed other children with your bare hands, not to mention you seem to be on a personal mission to sleep with the entire female populace of the Capitol. Neither of which particularly endears you to them."

I have to concede her point. "But I thought we'd agreed you shouldn't do something that makes you unhappy?"

"I'm not unhappy," she says, and I think she means it. "I'm just not..."

"Happy?" I prompt.

"Entirely satisfied."

"Why? He no good in bed?"

Annie blushes scarlet. "Finnick!" she shouts, slapping my arm while I laugh. "Gross!" I force myself to stop chuckling, because I know very well that Annie's never slept with a man before, and I shouldn't be teasing her like this.

"He holds my hand, and walks me to the door after our dates, and writes me poems," Annie says softly, staring into my eyes. "It's... nice."

"But?"

She looks down at her hands. "I don't know," she mumbles.

I suddenly feel bad for interrogating her. "Look," I say gently, slipping a finger under her chin and raising her eyes to meet mine. "You do whatever you want. It's your life. And I won't harass you anymore. If you want to bring Blake over, go ahead. If you want advice on how to win his heart even more completely than I'm sure you already have, just say the word. Get it?"

"Got it," Annie says, smiling. "Mara's wrong, Finnick. I think you're the sweetest guy in the world."

I strike a pose.

"Prettiest, too," she grins.

"Handsome," I correct. "Not pretty. I'm almost nineteen, Annie, which makes me a man, and men are not pretty." I glance at the water, which is sparkly and turquoise and entirely inviting. "Want to swim?"

She nods, and together we dive into the sea.

So, when Annie brings Blake over to my house three weeks later, I have no idea why I'm so surprised. I offered, after all, even though I never thought she would actually take me up on it. Annie knocks on the door instead of just coming inside, which clues me in that something's amiss. Then I see a tall, spiky blonde-haired guy – who, I have to admit, is fairly attractive, from a purely aesthetic viewpoint – standing beside her, with his arm around her waist, and I get this sudden, unexpected urge to rip it away from her and tackle him.

Since I'm not a complete idiot, however, I restrain this strange desire and instead open the door with a welcoming smile. "Hi," I say. "You must be Blake."

Blake gives me a friendly grin and shakes my hand. "Annie's told me so much about you," he says, squeezing Annie's waist with his other hand. Annie, interestingly, isn't looking at Blake at all – she's watching me, as if gauging my reaction. What, does she expect me to get mad because she took me up on my offer? Or because I'm frustrated that she's with a guy she told me herself she has no real feelings for? I don't know her game – especially considering Annie never plays games – so I decide to stick with the persona of pleasant host.

"Come on in," I invite, stepping back.

"Thanks, man," Blake says, coming inside. Annie disentangles herself from him as they remove their shoes.

"So what brings you around?" I ask.

Blake shrugs expansively. "Annie's been talking about you so much that I figured you must be a pretty cool guy. I thought we might hang out."

So this was Blake's idea? And so help me, I actually find myself liking him, because I suspect that he really is as good a guy as Mara and Natare are always telling me. But I still don't like the idea of him being with Annie.

"Sounds fun," I say. "What do you want to do?"

In the end, I take Blake and Annie on a tour of the house, and we end up in the back yard, where there's a table tennis table set up that I bought on a whim. Blake's never seen one before – they're ludicrously expensive, after all – and we spend a surprisingly chummy hour playing. Annie declines to play, and sits on the sidelines just watching us with that inscrutable expression of hers. I start to wonder if this is simply the way she acts around Blake.

Around dinnertime Blake excuses himself, and he kisses Annie on the cheek as he leaves. As soon as the door shuts behind Blake, Annie bursts into tears.

"Annie!" I exclaim, and go to embrace her as she sinks down to the floor, back leaning against the door. "What's wrong?"

"He's so... perfect," she sobs. "But I just... can't."

"Can't what?" I ask, stroking her back soothingly. A horrible suspicion tears through me. "He isn't... pushing you into anything, is he?"

"Of course not!" she gasps. "He's a complete gentleman!"

"So...?"

"So why can't I like him the way he likes me?"

I snap my mouth shut. My answer would of course be that if Annie doesn't like Blake, she should stop beating herself up about and dump him – plenty of fish in the sea, especially for an attractive girl like her – but somehow I doubt that's what she wants to hear. Especially because I've already given her this speech before. I try to think of what Natare would say. She's good at this touchy-feely stuff. "Maybe... you two weren't meant for each other?" I hope she doesn't think the words are as stupid as they sound to me.

But it seems to work. Annie stops sniffling, and stares up at me appealingly. "You really think so?"

"Sure," I say. "Just because Blake is perfect, it doesn't mean that he's necessarily perfect for you. Does that make sense?"

Annie considers this for a long moment. "I guess." Then she gets teary-eyed again. "But Finnick... he loves me. He told me this morning. That's why I brought him over. I couldn't be alone with him after he dropped something like that on my head..."

Blake is in love with her. Well, that would explain her emotional breakdown. Especially now that she's finally realized that she can't go on pretending like this. "What if you tried... well, telling him exactly what you're telling me right now? That you think he's wonderful, and amazing, but you just don't think it will work out?"

"Would he believe that?"

I imagine one of my Capitol lovers telling me that. Okay, they wouldn't, because they're all hopelessly obsessed with me, but I think that I would like to be reassured that the break up wasn't my fault. Hard to know, since I've never been dumped, but it's the best I can do. "I think he will. Or, at least, it might lessen the sting a little."

Annie doesn't look happy, per se, but she has that confidence that comes from having developed a plan, and all there is left now is to carry it out. "I'm going to go talk to him," she decides, pushing her curtain of silky brown hair out of her face. I help Annie to her feet, and she throws her arms around me gratefully. "Thanks, Finnick."

I give her a crooked grin. "That's what friends are for, right?"

"Right," she smiles.


	32. Part 3: Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Six**

Annie breaks up with Blake that evening. I find this out because, the next morning, Blake shows up at my doorstep with a completely devastated expression on his face. This surprises me, because we've only known each other for a day, and although we hit it off, I'm sure he has better friends that he could go crying to.

"Annie broke up with me," Blake says.

"Do you want some coffee?" I ask.

Once I have him seated in the living room, with coffee and sugar cubes in easy reach – the sugar is more for me than him – Blake finally explains why he's here, of all places. "You know Annie the best," he says. "I don't understand what I did wrong."

"Maybe you should be talking to Mara or Natare," I suggest.

Blake shakes his head. "She talks about you way more than anyone else." My eyes widen, because I had no idea Annie was so attached to me. Not that I mind, of course – I prefer her company to just about anyone else's, even Natare, because Annie doesn't nag me like Natare does. And there's something about her that just puts me at ease.

"You want me to tell you why she dumped you?" I clarify.

Blake puts his coffee down and cradles his head in his hands. "She said something about me being perfect, but somehow not right for her. That makes no sense! If I'm so bloody wonderful, why would she dump me?"

I frown. "You didn't give her a hard time, did you?"

Blake shoots me an incredulous look. "I love her, Odair. Of course I fought for her!"

I abruptly feel horrible for Blake, because he's a genuinely nice person and he doesn't deserve a heart break like this. Not that I blame Annie, but I do wish she'd followed my original advice before it came to this. "Maybe the problem really isn't with you," I suggest slowly. "Girls are volatile, emotional, unfathomable creatures. It could be that Annie just – for whatever, crazy girl reason – couldn't return your feelings, and she decided to break it off now rather than lead you on."

"Maybe," Blake says, but he doesn't sound convinced.

"If you started dating someone because you thought they were amazing," I elaborate, "but a few months in you realize that while you admire them and love being their friend, you just can't make the emotional leap to romance, wouldn't you break it off right away because it wouldn't be fair to either of you if you continued the charade?"

"I guess," Blake says, but this time his voice is only laced with a minimal amount of hurt.

"Have a sugar cube," I suggest, and he pops one in his mouth. As he crunches, I share some of my own hard-earned wisdom. "Unless you've been living underwater for the last few years, you may be aware that I know a little something about women."

Blake laughs at that.

"Here's what I've discovered," I tell him. "There's no way to predict what a girl is going to do, because every single one is different. The only thing you can do is be yourself. If they like you, then they like you. If they don't, they don't. That's all there is to it."

"And yet you've never met a single girl who doesn't like you," Blake says bitterly.

I think of Andromache, who torments me at every opportunity. "I've met a few."

Blake considers this for a moment, then smiles again. "Thanks."

"No problem," I say easily. "What are friends for?"

It turns out that when I imply Blake is now my friend, he takes me at my word. The next day, when I'm on my boat, half-way through repairing a net, Blake jogs up to me and waves a hello. "What's up, man?" he calls, and then jumps onto my boat.

"Hey, Blake," I say, not quite sure what to make of his behaviour. "I was just repairing this net..."

"Yeah?" Blake says, coming to crouch down beside me and examine my handiwork. He whistles. "Annie was right – you're a whiz at knots."

"Have you talked to her recently?"

Blake shrugs and sits down, leaning back and staring up at the cloudy blue sky. "Nah. She's been avoiding me – convinced that I'm mad at her."

I eye him carefully. "And are you?"

"Not anymore," Blake says. "Don't get me wrong, I'm avoiding her too. Having to see the girl you loved, who dumped you... it's like getting kicked in the chest. Repeatedly."

I have no experience with this sort of thing, so I give a vague, noncommittal response, and we lapse into a comfortable silence.

Before long, Blake is showing up everywhere I go, so long as that isn't a place where Annie also happens to be. At first I'm not sure how to react, but he's intelligent and funny, so I eventually come to terms with the fact that Blake has somehow become my friend.

And it's a relief to have a male friend again, because now I can finally talk to someone who shares my outlook on life. When I get back from a shopping trip with Natare, Mara, and Annie, I go by Blake's house and we laugh over how ridiculous fashion is while lounging by the river and drinking home-brewed ale. When Mara brings her latest boyfriend over, I can rag on him with Blake. If I tried to do that with Annie or Natare, they would scold me for being insensitive.

It is awkward to keep my two groups of friends separate, since Annie and Blake are both very vocal about not being in the same room as each other. This is less to do with any sort of animosity between the two of them, and more the fact that it would be incredibly awkward. But when my nineteenth birthday approaches, and Natare starts to plan a party, I tell her that I want both Blake and Annie to come.

"Fine," she sighs. "But you'll have to tell them who else is coming."

Annie isn't thrilled, but it's been more than six months since the break-up, and she tells me that she'll be fine if he comes. Blake is even easier to convince, because he has a new girlfriend that he's quickly falling head over heels for, and Annie hasn't entered his mind in at least a few weeks.

Natare hosts the party in our backyard. The patio is decked out with tiki torches and streamers, and Mags brings over her music player so we can have some fun, dance music. Mags wasn't sure at first whether or not I wanted an "old lady" at my party, until I told her that I refused to have a party unless she attended.

"Is that Blake?" Mags asks me as we stand by the buffet table, watching everyone have a good time. Natare decided that me and my small circle of friends wouldn't make a very good party, so she invited practically everyone she knows. Our lawn is now covered with chatting, laughing, and dancing teens.

I follow her line of sight, and see that he's talking to Annie, whose hands are twisted together anxiously but otherwise looks alright. "Yes."

"Isn't that Annie he's talking to?"

I roll my eyes. "You know it is, Mags."

Mags cackles. "Ah, young love. I forget the twists and turmoil you young people have to cope with every day. The racing hormones, the love-struck glances, the pregnancy scares—"

"Pregnancy scares?" I blink.

"Or not," she says, giving me a gap-toothed grin.

"Crazy old lady," I say fondly.

"Go have fun with your friends," Mags says. "Natare will keep me company, right dear?" Natare, who is standing a few feet away talking to her boyfriend – a bespectacled kid named Sylvester – turns when she hears her name.

"I'll keep an eye on Mags," Natare says, smiling toothily at me.

I shake my head in a long-suffering manner and go off to find Mara. She's dancing on the patio with her latest fling, a big-nosed guy who may or may not be called Trevor. "Hey, Trevor," I say, clapping him on the back. He turns, and then almost jumps behind Mara when he realizes who I am. "Relax," I say, making a calming gesture with my hands. "I'm not going to beat you up for whatever ridiculous reason you think I will."

"Shoo," Mara says to Trevor, who nods and bolts for a nearby cluster of teens. Then she shoots me an exasperated look. "Can't you ever be nice to them?"

"I am nice," I protest. A bright, calypso beat comes on the battered music player, and Mara and I start to move to the music. I'm not a great dancer, but I'm so fantastically good-looking that no one cares whether I can dance or not. "Trevor seems like a stand up guy. You going to marry him?"

"You going to marry..." Mara trails off with a smirk. "Oh wait, you don't even have a girlfriend, Mister Capitol Sex Symbol."

"Touché," I say, bowing before her as she giggles. Then I say, "I'm off to find Annie. You should probably make sure Trevor hasn't fled the village entirely."

"Ha ha," Mara says, sticking her tongue out at me. Then she hugs me. "Happy Birthday, by the way."

I wiggle my eyebrows at her. "You going to give me a present?"

She smiles and pecks me on the lips. "Now go find Annie."

"Yes, ma'am," I salute, and scan the crowd for my brunette friend, as Mara weaves away in search of her cowardly boyfriend. Annie is still talking to Blake, and they seem to both be at ease now, because Annie's smiling and Blake keeps making big arm gestures as he talks.

"Hey," I say, coming up beside Annie and slipping my arm around her waist. She grins and hugs me.

"Happy Birthday," she says.

"Yeah, Happy Birthday," Blake agrees, glancing around himself. "Sweet party. Where'd you get that awesome music box?"

"It's Mags'," I admit. "My mentor from the Games – I'm sure you've seen around before."

"Sure," Blake agrees. Then he glances at me, gets a strange glint in his eye, and says, "I've gotta go find Laurie. She made me promise her at least one dance." He's gone before I can figure out what caused him to leave so abruptly.

Annie smiles up at me, and I realize I still have my arm around her waist. I let her go, and instead grab her hands and start to do a silly dance, tugging her along for the ride. "You're happy," Annie observes.

"I'm at a huge party thrown in my honour, dancing with the prettiest girl in the backyard," I laugh. "How could I possibly be unhappy?"

"You mean it?" she asks.

"Which part?" I spin Annie in a circle and she starts to giggle so hard that she almost topples over.

"The pretty part."

"Course you are."

She considers this a moment. "Prettier than the girls in Capitol?"

"Annie," I snort. "The women in Capitol are so covered in tattoos and paint and glitter that they look more like tropical birds than people. Compared to them, you're a goddess."

I have no trouble sounding sincere, because I believe every word of what I'm saying. Annie gives me a huge smile, and we spin away across the grassy dance floor.


	33. Part 3: Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Seven**

When the 70th Hunger Games looms on the horizon, Pompey calls all the District 4 victors to a special teleconference meeting in the Justice building to determine who the mentors will be this year. Mikael pulls the short straw for the guys, which pleases me to no end, and Andromache ends up in charge of the female tribute. I feel a pang of sorrow for whichever unlucky girl gets chosen, because Andromache is a horror and completely useless as a mentor.

As Mags and I stroll out of the Justice building toward the car that will take us back to Victor's Village, Coral runs up behind us and says, "Mind if I hitch a lift? My ankle's been bothering me."

I glance at Mags, who nods, so I say, "Sure, hop in."

We make the short drive back to our little segregated community in silence. As soon as we get out of the car and it pulls away, however, Coral presses her fingers into my arm and says, "Can I talk to you?"

Intrigued, I respond, "Sure. Where did you want to—"

"Oh, I think Mags wouldn't mind if we borrowed her house for a few minutes," Coral says airily. When Mags simply shrugs and totters off towards her front door – which makes me more than a little suspicious – I nod and follow Coral as she marches after Mags like she owns the place.

Once we're inside the house, Coral doesn't even wait until we've sat down in the living room to get to the point. "Haymitch has been talking to me about the you-know-what," she says. "He says you're a part of it. I just wanted to let you know that I'm involved too. If you ever need help, Finnick, just say the word."

She's talking about the rebellion, and I find myself realizing that if any of the other victors from District 4 are going to be a part of it, I'm glad that it's Coral. I barely know her, but Mags has always approved of her. Speaking of Mags... "You knew?" I ask my old mentor. "Since when were you... involved?"

Mags rolls her eyes. "I've been laying the foundations for decades, boy. Haymitch let you in at my recommendation."

"Really?" I blink. "I had no idea."

Mags smiles and pats my arm. "You're a good boy, Finnick. You're smart, and you're level-headed, and you can keep a secret. What more could a fledgling... organization need?"

The way they're censoring their words tells me that there's a chance that somebody might be spying on us. I figure they're just paranoid about hidden cameras, but I respect their need for caution. "Thanks for telling me," I say to Coral. "Hopefully I'll never have to take you up on that."

She flips her curly red hair over her shoulder and winks. "That's the dream. Later, Mags. Pretty-boy." Coral flounces out the door, and I'm left alone with Mags.

I arch an eyebrow at her. "The rebellion? Really?"

Mags snorts. "What, an old lady can't fight for what she believes in? I'm the brains behind this entire operation, I'll have you know."

"Ha. I doubt that."

Mags laughs and pulls out a bag from her pocket. "Sugar cube?"

Reaping Day arrives, and I hug Natare, Mara, and Annie good luck as they go off to their designated positions. Father pats me on the shoulder and says, "They'll be fine," and heads off into the crowd. I wind my way up to the area just in front of the stage, where the past victors are required to stand and watch the proceedings. Andromache and Mikael are already up on stage, conversing with Pompey. Our director has gotten chubby and far more relaxed since I last saw him, and it's almost impossible to recognize the nervous, overly-exuberant young man who pulled my name out of a big plastic ball five years ago to the day.

"Welcome to the 70th Hunger Games!" Pompey's voice echoes through the speaker system a few minutes later. And now he's even using a microphone, I think. What is the world coming to? "May the odds be ever in your favour!"

There's the usual speech about the evil District 13, who dared to actually think that they had a right to their own freedom, and because of whom we now have to send twenty-four kids off to die each year as "tributes" in the Capitol's sick but effective way of keeping the districts in line. Then Pompey walks over to the big plastic ball that holds the girls' names, and pulls out a slip.

"The female tribute for this year," Pompey announces grandly, "is Annie Cresta!"

My first thought, of all things, is crushing self-guilt. I rack my mind for some reason that Annie's name has been pulled, because I'm convinced that Snow has purposely rigged the Reaping to punish me. But to punish me for what? My rational mind gradually takes control of my frantic thoughts, and I remind myself that Snow has no reason to punish me, because all I've done is exactly what he's told me to do.

What if he's found about the rebellion? But I dismiss that a second later, because why would Snow waste time taking revenge on me when there are so many more prominent members of the rebellion that he could go after?

By the time I've recovered my scattered wits, Annie is up on stage and standing, shaking, next to Pompey. Her fists are clutched at her sides, nearly white from strain, and I can tell from the way she's biting her lip that she's doing everything she can not to cry.

I don't even hear the male tribute being called. All my attention is focused on Annie. Her flowing brown hair, shimmering in the early afternoon sun, the bronze tan of her skin, the laugh lines from all those times I had her in stitches with my impersonations of the Capitol citizens, or recitations of one bad joke after another.

Then my mind wanders back to that time on my boat, when Annie came to me crying, and I held her to me and told her that she shouldn't be with Blake, and felt those faint stirrings of jealousy that I summarily dismissed. And then, at my birthday party, my arm around her waist as if it were the most natural place in the world to be, dancing with her without a care in the world.

"I love Annie Cresta," I whisper as the truth reveals itself to me. The words feel so right, coming out of my mouth, and I marvel that it's taken me so long to realize this.

Mags, who is standing next to me and watching the Reaping with a deep frown, overhears me. "Of course you do," she says as if it were painfully obvious to everyone but me. "And now the girl you love is about to go off to die in a juvenile gladiatorial death match, and all you can do is stand there gaping!"

The sharpness in her tone brings me back to reality. Pompey is wrapping up the ceremony, and soon applause rings through the main square and everyone begins to disperse. I immediately leap up onto the stage and sprint for the stairs at the right side, where Andromache and Mikael are following Annie and a pasty twelve-year old kid off the stage.

I seize Andromache's arm and spin her around. "I need to... I mean, I volunteer to be Annie Cresta's mentor," I gasp.

Andromache stares at me coldly. "Go screw yourself, Odair. You can't have my tribute."

"Annie Cresta is my best friend, and I will be her mentor," I tell her matter-of-factly. "You are a horrible mentor, and you are going to go out of your way to get her killed. And I can't allow that."

"What are you going to do about it, pretty-boy?" Andromache taunts. "You can volunteer all you want, but I was chosen this year. That means I get first choice, and I choose to stay on." We're off the stage now, and I drag Andromache around the edge and out of sight of the Peacekeepers. When she starts to protest, I clap my hand over her mouth until we're alone.

"Let me make myself clear," I say politely. "If you do not go to Pompey right now and tell him that I'll be taking over as Annie Cresta's mentor, I will kill you. If you manage to keep yourself in sight of the Peacekeepers until you get back from the Games, then I will wait. And when you get back, and go home to your comfy little mansion and crawl into bed, I will be waiting in the closet with a knife in my hand."

"You wouldn't kill me," Andromache snorts. "You don't have the guts."

I take a step closer to her, and I think she notices for the first time that I'm no longer the scared fourteen year old boy she once knew. I tower over her, my biceps thicker than her neck, and I think she realizes that I could snap that neck right now if I so chose.

"I'm not kidding around, Andromache."

Andromache gives me a long, hard look, and then turns her gaze downward. "Fine, Odair. Take the girl. What do I care? There's always next year."

I don't bother to say thank you. Instead, I seize her arm and escort her none-too-gently back around the side of the stage to where Pompey is talking to one of the Peacekeepers. "I volunteer to be Annie Cresta's mentor," I say loudly.

Pompey turns with a surprised expression. "Really? And Andromache is alright with this?"

Andromache glares at me, then smiles sweetly and says, "Oh yes, not a problem at all. He's welcome to her."

Pompey shrugs. "Alright, then. You know the drill, Finnick. Pack your things and be at the station in an hour." He pauses. "Do you know Annie Cresta or something?"

"She's a friend," I say vaguely.

I race home to grab my things. When I tumble through the front door, Natare is suddenly in my arms, crying and clutching my shirt. "Finnick, it's Annie, did you see, she's going to the Games and she's so sweet and she's never going to be able to kill anyone and—"

"Natare, it's going to be alright," I say, grabbing her shoulders steadily. "Natare, look at me." She stops her hysterical rambling long enough for me to say, "I volunteered to be her mentor."

Father comes out of the kitchen, and he has an almost proud look on his face. "You keep that girl safe, Finnick."

"That's the plan," I say, forcing a confident smile to hide the fact that I'm terrified beyond belief that I'm going to screw up and Annie, my best friend – no, the girl I love – is going to die because of it. "I have to pack."

"Go," Natare urges me, in control again now she knows I'm on the case. Her faith in me is absolutely astonishing, and I pray it's not unfounded.

I take the stairs two at a time, and within minutes have thrown about half of my wardrobe haphazardly into my suitcase. As I throw it over my shoulder and dash back down the stairs, Natare and father are still standing in the front hallway.

I wrap an arm around my little sister and hug her close. "I love you," I tell her softly.

"Bring her back," Natare entreats, and I nod.

"We love you, son," father says. "Do your best."

I salute him, kiss Natare on the head, and take off at a run for the train station.


	34. Part 3: Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Eight**

When I skid onto the train station platform, I almost run straight into Mikael, who's talking to the conductor. "Sorry," I gasp, doing a neat sidestep and hurrying past.

"Where are you going?" Mikael shouts at me. "You're not a mentor!"

I don't bother replying, as Pompey is bound to fill him in soon enough. One of the train attendants takes my bag as I jump up the metal steps onto the train. Then I burst into the sitting room, and see Annie and the twelve year old sitting across from each other, neither saying a word. The sight of her fills me with indescribable joy, like our brief hour apart has caused me physical pain that suddenly disappears in her presence.

"Annie," I say. She turns, obviously confused by the familiar voice. When she sees me standing in the doorway, she gapes.

"Finnick? What are you doing here?"

"I volunteered to be your mentor," I tell her. The next thing I know, she's in my arms, clutching my shoulders, and about two seconds away from a complete breakdown. "Calm down," I whisper into her ear. "Can you stop crying once you start?"

Annie sniffs and shakes her head. I realize that the kid is staring at me.

"Are you Finnick Odair?" he asks, looking at me with an awe-struck expression. Apparently the reality of the situation hasn't sunk in for him yet. I feel bad for him, because I'm about to do everything in my power to ensure that Annie emerges the sole winner of the Games, which by necessity means making sure this boy dies.

"Guilty," I say. "What's your name, kid?"

"Thomas. You know Annie?" He peers curiously at the way she's still clinging to me. "She your girlfriend or something?"

Amazing, I think, that I didn't realize how I felt about Annie until just now. If even a twelve year old can figure it out, then how oblivious does that make me? It occurs to me that I have no idea if Annie returns my affections. Then I realize that it doesn't matter, because I will do anything to protect her, regardless of how she feels about me. I decide not to say anything to her about it, because if she doesn't feel the same then all I'll do is stress her out, and she needs to focus on staying alive.

"She's my friend," I say, squeezing Annie. She takes another few seconds to recover, and then reluctantly pulls away.

"Thank you," she tells me. I give Annie a reassuring wink, and she smiles hesitantly.

"So, Thomas," I say jovially, plopping down on the couch across from him. Annie sits down beside me so close that she's basically curled against my side – not that I'm complaining. Especially if it makes her feel safer. "What's your deal? Family? Friends? Strategy for the Games?"

Mikael comes in a while later, talking to Pompey and looking confused. "But why would Snow..." he says, and then stops mid-sentence when he sees me. "Heard you're mentoring Annie," he directs at me.

"I thought I might show her the ropes," I agree, flashing Annie a grin. But my insides grow cold, because I know what Mikael was talking with Pompey about – is Annie being chosen some sort of punishment or lesson for me? The fact that someone else is thinking it worries me, because that means it might actually be true. I resolve to get a meeting with Snow when we arrive in Capitol, even if it means calling in a few favours.

Annie and I stick around the main area for the entire train trip, because I'm hoping to get a sense of what Mikael is planning for Thomas, strategy-wise. It turns out that Thomas is handy with a spear, which is something I'll definitely have to keep in mind. Annie doesn't talk much, but she and Thomas seem to like each other well enough, so I pull Mikael aside and suggest a possible alliance.

"Thomas can handle himself better than your friend," Mikael tells me point-blank.

I give him an unimpressed look. "He's twelve, which means he's not getting any sponsors. Annie will have money to burn, because I'm her mentor and I know everyone worth knowing. So you decide for yourself if Thomas would be better off with her or not."

Mikael watches me for a long moment. "I'll think about it," he says.

When we pull into the Capitol, Pompey announces that it's time to head to the Training Centre and get a good night's rest. I accompany them as far as the elevator, and then say, "I have to meet someone."

Annie looks lost. "You're not coming with me?"

"I'll be back in a few hours," I promise her. When she continues to bite her lip, I hug her. "We're going to get through this," I whisper in her ear. "Both of us. You have my word."

As soon as Pompey has whisked everyone away, I turn to the lobby and make a beeline for the welcome desk. "Hi, beautiful," I say, leaning against the counter and delivering the female attendant one of my best smiles. "I don't suppose you could get a call through to President Snow for me?"

She's obviously flustered by being in my presence, but my request is extreme enough to snap her out of it quickly enough. "I'm sorry, Mister Odair, but it's very difficult to contact the President..."

"Does his house have a phone number?" I suggest. "Dial it up and hand me the receiver, please."

She shrugs and hands over the phone. After a few seconds I hear a ringing sound, and then a gruff voice says, "President Snow's residence. What can I assist you with?"

"Hi," I say cheerfully. "This is Finnick Odair. My best friend in the entire world was just chosen to participate in the Hunger Games, so why don't you go tell President Snow that I'm going to be at his gates in five minutes."

"President Snow is a busy man—"

"Tell him that if those gates aren't open when I get there, then I'm going to go to the center of City Circle, drum up a huge crowd, and then start publicly denouncing the Capitol until either he shows up, or someone arrests me."

"Who is this again?"

"Finnick Odair, resident heart throb and ladies' man. Heard of me?"

Gruff voice gives an audible groan. "One second."

It's more like five minutes, but eventually he comes back on the line and says, "I'm sending a car. Be at the doors in three minutes."

"Thanks," I say, and hang up.

I take the car to President Snow's mansion, and after waiting another ten minutes or so, I'm escorted up to Snow's flower-greenhouse room. It's as pungent as I remember, although now that I know exactly why Snow is so fond of his perfumed flowers, it gives the room a sinister aura.

"Finnick, my boy," Snow says, appearing from behind one of the flower-beds. Was he watering the roses? I don't care, so I disregard the thought. "My man said that you were... eager to see me. What, may I ask, is the problem?"

In a way, his willingness to see me at such short notice is a testament to the power I've gained in Capitol over the years. "I thought we were friends, sir," I say in my most betrayed voice, because I know that he still thinks of me as a hormonally charged teenager.

Snow looks honestly puzzled. This throws me, because I'm very good at reading people, and it seems unlikely that this conversation would take him by surprise. "My best friend, Annie Cresta, was chosen to be a tribute this year," I say, making my voice purposely whiny. "Sir, I thought you were going to keep my friends and family safe? What was the point of all that entering into a contract crap if you just turn around and try to get my best friend killed?"

There's that look of genuine confusion again on Snow's face. Could he really have no idea that Annie was chosen? "I admit that I have no idea what you're talking about," he says, and then goes to a computer terminal set into the wall. He calls up a list of this year's tributes, and scrolls down to Annie's face. "This girl is your best friend, you say?"

I have no problem making myself appear miserable. "Why would you do this, sir?"

Snow comes up to me and puts his hands on my shoulders in a fatherly fashion. "Finnick, you have to believe me. I meant what I said when I told you that I would protect your family in return for your cooperation. Natare's name is permanently removed from the Reaping as long as our deal holds. But I'm not a spymaster, my boy. If I had known that Annie Cresta was your friend, I would have removed her name as well."

His face darkens. "I will look into this, you have my word."

And so help me, I believe him. Not the part about him not spying on me, of course, but that whoever was keeping tabs on me never thought to remove Annie's name from the Reaping pool. I came in here prepared to threaten Snow with the very dangerous information I've been collecting over the years, but now that it's clear Snow really didn't do this on purpose, I'm at somewhat of a loss. Still, I'm a quick thinker, and I'm determined to get something out of this whole mess.

"If Annie dies in that arena, sir, I don't know what I'll do," I say, and I make my voice crack on the last word. Snow's lips twist, and I know he understands what I'm saying. The ball is in Snow's court now, because if he can't find a way to fix this, then he knows very well that our chummy relationship is over for good.

"I know what you want me to say," Snow says. "But I can't take your friend out of the Games. It would be a scandal – you can't imagine the consequences."

"Then I'm just supposed to let her die?" I say bitterly.

Snow shakes his head. "No, no, my boy. I'll tell you what. I've got a few friends in high places who like to donate to the Games each year – I am the President, after all! I'll talk to them personally about your friend, and see what support I can drum up. You know what they say! Personality and skills are important, but gifts can determine the outcome of the Hunger Games!"

It's not a rock solid promise, but if Snow is trying to keep the peace with me then it at least means he doesn't know about my involvement with the rebellion. "Thanks sir," I say, and I have no problem looking relieved, because I am. Even if he only talks to one person, that will be one sponsor more than Annie would have had otherwise. Plus whoever else I can sweet-talk into lending a helping hand.

"Anytime, Finnick," Snow says jovially. Then his face lights up, as if a brilliant idea has just occurred to him. "Tell you what? Let's suspend our contract for this year, hmm? As long as Annie Cresta's alive, no house calls. You just stay in the Training Center and focus on keeping your friend alive. How does that sound?"

Perfect, because now I'll be free to slip out at night and hit up some of my old lovers for a few bucks if need be. Although hopefully it won't come to that. "Thanks, that sounds great," I say.

Snow waves me off with some cheerful platitudes, and I return to the Training Center weary but satisfied. Now that I'm certain that Annie isn't here because of me, I can focus on helping her learn how to defend herself and win the Games. And considering how completely non-violent I know her to be, I suspect that this will be very difficult.

I step off the elevator at the fourth floor and see that everyone has already turned in for the night. So I go to Annie's door and knock quietly, hoping that I'm not waking her up. When she opens the door she's in a nightdress, but she doesn't look like I've woken her up.

"Hey," I say, slipping inside the room. She immediately throws her arms around me, seeking comfort. I'd forgotten how different and surreal Capitol must feel to her, because I'm so used to it that I no longer notice the crazy styles of the Capitol people, or the roaring automobiles, or the towering, multi-coloured skyscrapers.

"Where were you?"

"I had a chat with President Snow," I admit.

Annie pulls away with a worried look. "Why? What did he want?"

"I wanted to talk to him, actually."

She eyes me suspiciously. "What, you just called him up and said, Hey, President Snow, mind if I drop by for some tea and cookies?"

"I'm more partial to sugar cubes," I say, and pull a bag from my pocket. Annie shakes her head with a smile as I drop a few into her hand, and then toss four or five into my mouth.

As I crunch away, she says, "You're really important here, aren't you?"

"Not important, per se," I correct. "More like... influential."

"Because of your lovers," Annie says flatly.

This reminds me of why I came to see her. "Annie," I say, grabbing her arm gently. I pull her toward the loveseat under her window, and after a moment she lets me lead her over. Once we sit down, I continue. "How are you handling all this?"

She bursts into tears, which doesn't surprise me, although the pain I feel when I see her crying does shock me somewhat. Being new to this whole love business, it continues to astonish me how deeply Annie's every action affects me. Mags told me a few months ago that when her husband died, she got so depressed that she couldn't get out of bed for almost a year. I never understood how a single person's death could damage someone so much... but now I do. And it's a terrifying feeling.

"Talk to me," I urge her, wrapping my arms around Annie. "Which part is scaring you? Having to fight other kids? The fear of death? The fear of pain?"

Annie sniffs. "Can my answer be all of the above?"

"In my experience, when someone runs at you with a sword, it's pretty easy to defend yourself," I say carefully, making sure to keep my voice light so I don't depress her even more. "Death I can't help you with, since I'm alive, but I've always figured that there's no point in fearing something that you can't avoid. We'll never know what comes after until we die, so there's not much point getting worked up about it."

"I can't wait to hear your speech on pain," Annie snorts, which cheers me, because if she's mocking me it means that she's stopped crying, however momentarily.

"Pain sucks," I admit. "But you're going into the arena, Annie, and I guarantee you that it's something you won't be able to avoid."

"Comforting."

"You want me to lie to you?"

"No," she sighs, snuggling closer to me.

"You're probably going to get injured," I tell her. "And it's going to feel like you're on fire, your whole body screaming... it's going to be probably the worst thing you can possibly imagine. But if you're paralyzed by the fear of getting hurt, then it's about ten times more likely to happen."

Annie changes tacks abruptly. "Why did you volunteer to mentor me, Finnick? If I die in there, you're never going to forgive yourself."

"Two reasons," I say, caressing her hair with one hand. I probably shouldn't be, since I've resolved to keep my newly-discovered feelings a secret, but I can't quite seem to stop myself. "First of all, if I'd left you with Andromache... well, let's just say she's an awful human being. Second, you're my best friend. How could I let you face this without me?"

Annie's jaw tightens and she puts on a brave face, clearly for my benefit. "You did amazingly in the arena," she says. "With you helping me, maybe I really can win."

"That's the plan," I agree, and then I kiss her on the head. "You need to rest." I stand up and start for the door.

"Finnick," Annie says. "Please stay. I... I don't think I can face tonight alone."

"Sure," I say instantly.

Annie twists her hands together. "Since I'm making you stay, you should get the bed..."

"Oh no," I say, and I all but pick her up and put her on the bed. "I'll be just fine on the couch. Now go to sleep. I'll be here in the morning."

She yawns and looks up at me, suddenly sleepy now that I've agreed to stay. "Promise?"

"Promise," I say gently, and then lean down to kiss her soft hair. "Sweet dreams."

I love you, I add in my head.

"... you," Annie murmurs.

Confused, I wait for her to say something else, but then I realize she's fallen asleep. I stroke her hair for a few minutes, then retire to the couch and curl up on it as best I can. I'm pushing six feet in height, so I don't exactly fit. But Annie wants me to stay, so I'll make do. And after tossing and turning for at least an hour, I finally drift into a fitful sleep.


	35. Part 3: Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Nine**

I wake up early the next morning, and spend a glorious hour just watching Annie sleep. At first I feel a bit like a stalker, but honestly, she could die in that arena and I may only have days left with her. I'm pretty sure Mags watched me sleep during my own Games, so I'm in good company.

Annie wakes up when Pompey starts banging on the door, shouting something about Claudia, who I assume is Annie's stylist. I can't remember who the female stylist was during my Games, but I know it wasn't Claudia, because I slept with Claudia last year and she complained about how she had petitioned to become a Hunger Games stylist and was waiting on the response.

"Finnick?" Annie mumbles.

I kiss her forehead. "Morning, sunshine. I'm going to chat with your stylist – get up as slowly as you want, okay?"

Outside Annie's room, Pompey and Claudia are waiting for me. Claudia is extremely tall for a woman, and has waist-length gold hair that is impossibly shiny. "Finnick," she says, smiling when she recognizes me. "I didn't know you were the mentor this year."

"He wasn't originally," Pompey agrees. "But the girl – Annie – is a friend from home."

Claudia gives me a saucy wink. "More than a friend?" she purrs.

"None of your business," I reply smoothly, but I grin to soften the words. Claudia is too smart to fall madly in love with me like most Capitol women, but she definitely still has her eye on me.

We go for breakfast, and Claudia fills me in on everything that's happened since our tryst. Pompey interjects every once and a while, apparently fascinated that we know each other. He seems astonished that I have intimate knowledge of almost everyone Claudia mentions in passing, which leads me to believe that Pompey honestly has no idea what happens to the attractive victors when they win.

Annie eventually emerges, and immediately becomes flustered as Claudia's colourful prep team bursts into the room and begin to peck and claw at her while jabbering excitedly. When Claudia makes no effort to restrain them, I step in.

"If your team makes my tribute cry, you will not like the consequences," I tell Claudia pleasantly.

Claudia pouts at me. "So cold! What happened to our... mutual affection?"

"You're a very attractive woman," I assure her. "And I hold you in the highest regard. But Annie's my friend, and I won't let your team harass her. Understand?"

She doesn't look happy with my tone, but she does turn and tell her team to calm down, which counts as a victory in my books. "I'm not supposed to stick around for the prep part," I tell Annie. "They're just going to make you even prettier so you can wow everyone at the opening ceremonies tonight. I'll be back in a few hours, okay?"

Annie bites her lip and looks down at the three stylists circling her like birds of prey. "I'll try not to lose my sanity before then," she promises, but her eyes twinkle to let me know that she's joking.

I'm so glad to see Annie acting more like her normal self that I kiss her on the cheek. "See you later, Annie." It occurs to me that I'm suddenly kissing and touching her exponentially more than I used to, but hopefully Annie won't notice.

My first stop is the twelfth floor. I can hear the clinking of a bottle through the elevator doors, and when I step out into the common area I see Haymitch standing alone by the window. Sure enough, he's got a half-bottle of liquor in one hand.

"Haymitch," I say.

He turns to me with a sorrowful expression. "I heard about the girl. I'm sorry, kid."

"I haven't given up on Annie just yet," I tell him.

Haymitch laughs caustically. "What can you possibly do? What can any of us do? I've got a good eye for people, pretty-boy, and your girlfriend isn't a killer. You can send her all the weapons you want, but she's never going to be able to use them."

I know this, but hearing him say it makes the reality sink in. "That's why I came here," I insist. "You've been mentoring kids for... what, fifteen years? You must have some tips."

"And how many of those kids have won the Games?" Haymitch snarls.

"None," I allow. "But you've been around. You know how things work." I drop my voice. "Isn't there anyone who can..."

I'm talking about the rebellion, and Haymitch knows it. "No one who could affect the outcome of the Games would do so unless they had a very good reason. And I'm telling you right now that saving Annie Cresta's life is not a good enough reason."

I throw my hands up in the air. "Then what am I supposed to do, Haymitch? Give up and watch her die?"

"You've come to the right place," Haymitch grumbles. "Learn from the master."

"Shut up," I snap. "You're drunk, and I need help. So help me."

Haymitch looks pretty pissed with me, but eventually he says, "Ask Beetee. He might have some ideas."

Beetee is an older victor from District 3 – hangs out mostly with a woman named Wiress. I've never actually talked to him, but I hear he's a genius. "Is he..."

"He's a friend," Haymitch says, which I take to mean that he's part of the rebellion.

"Thanks," I say, and head immediately for the elevator, because for whatever insane reason I trust Haymitch, and he seems to trust Beetee.

I find Beetee in the Victor's Spire, sitting in the cafeteria eating some sort of meat dish. He's accompanied by Wiress, and the two appear to be having a lively debate about something to do with electronics that goes right over my head.

Flipping my leg over the bench, I slide in beside Beetee and offer my hand. As he gives it a bemused shake, I smile and say, "Finnick Odair. Haymitch said that I might enjoy your company."

Beetee gives a nervous laugh. "Did he now? I find that... odd."

"Maybe," says Wiress.

"Are you a friend of Haymitch?" Beetee asks me.

"Yes," I say firmly. "And while I'm perfectly happy to sit here for the next hour engaging in small talk, I think I would rather save both our times by telling you why I'm here."

Beetee and Wiress exchange an interested look. "Please," Beetee says.

"My friend, Annie Cresta, is a tribute this year," I say bluntly. "She's completely non-violent, and doesn't stand a chance in the arena. Nevertheless, I fully intend to get her out of there alive, using any means necessary. I have a large network of very rich women who are very in love with me that I am willing to exploit if necessary. I also have my considerable charms, and devious mind. What do you think?"

Wiress seems intrigued by this scenario that I've presented. "Can she live?" she says. I cock my head to the side, puzzled.

"Does the girl have many survival skills?" Beetee translates.

I consider this. "If it were a water-based arena, sure. But otherwise, not really."

Beetee thinks about this for a long moment, and then nods. "I think we can help you, Mister Odair. But I will need some paper and a pen."

We retire to the District 3 lounge, and Wiress retrieves a large pad of paper from her room that is covered with complex looking equations. "Switches," she says vaguely. Beetee goes into his own room and returns with a portable computer.

"I am going to help you come up with some plans," he says. "First, I need you to calculate how much wealth you currently possess."

"Wealth?"

"Do you not receive gems and tokens from your lady friends?"

"Ah." I fire up the machine, and Beetee shows me how to find out the black market value on each item. I have them all stashed around my room here in the Victor's Spire – there are so many that I barely have room to sleep. "This will take me all afternoon," I predict.

"While you do that, I will see what sort of strategy we can employ that will allow Miss Cresta to survive without the need for violence," Beetee says, and he and Wiress immediately launch into a completely incomprehensible conversation that involves a lot of technical words and only half-completed sentences.

By the end of the afternoon, Beetee, Wiress and I have calculated the total value of all my assets. The result is a considerable amount, and should be able to buy Annie some fairly decent gifts in the arena. But there's still the problem of how to pick which gifts will actually keep her alive.

"The problem with the 'out-surviving the other tributes' method is that the Gamemakers will probably not play along," Beetee explains. "All they would have to do is use a wall of fire or some such device to trap the tributes in an enclosed space, and then Miss Cresta would be done for."

"Water," says Wiress.

Beetee looks intrigued by this. "Yes, Miss Cresta would certainly benefit from a water based arena. But I have it on good authority that this year will be a forested basin. I believe they've actually restricted water to a large stream running through the center of the arena."

"How deep is it?" I ask, wondering if Annie might be able to use it to her advantage somehow.

"Dam," says Wiress.

Beetee nods. "There is a dam up in the mountains that is holding back the river, so that when it reaches the basin it is merely a shallow stream. Good for drinking water, and perhaps obscuring tracks and scent, but not much else."

"Damn," I say, and Beetee chortles at the pun.

"I would suggest talking to Miss Cresta," he says. "See if she really is as pacifistic as you claim. If she were to possess even the slightest amount of killing intent, you could train her up on a weapon. This would at least give her a fighting chance."

"I'll try," I say, but I don't have much hope, because it's Annie, and she's not the killing type. Although people do change, in the arena. I don't want that to happen to her, but if the only other choice is that she'll die, then I'll teach her how to kill her fellow tributes myself.

"We will keep thinking about this," Beetee promises me, and his frail old hand reaches out to pat my shoulder.

"Thanks," I say, and I don't have any trouble sounding grateful, because I am. "I'll be back."

"Good luck," Wiress says. It's the first intelligible sentence I've heard all day, and I can't help but laugh.

Beetee chuckles nervously. "Goodbye, then, Mister Odair."

"Finnick," I remind him.

"Or do you prefer pretty-boy?" the old man says, smiling.

I laugh again. "Beetee, my friend, if you find me a way to save Annie Cresta's life, then you can call me whatever you want."

Beetee gets a devious look on his face. "Then I had better get working."


	36. Part 3: Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Ten**

I get back to the Training Center just in time for the Opening Ceremonies. Pompey is about to lead Annie and Thomas down to the ground floor when I step out of the elevator on the fourth floor. Annie is dressed like a mermaid, interestingly enough, and Thomas a merman. This unexpectedly flattering outfit surprises me, until Pompey remarks, "Shame Germanicus couldn't be the stylist this year. I heard the poor fellow was ill, you know. A real shame."

"The tributes of District Four mourn their loss," I quip, coming up to Annie and hugging her. As I predicted years ago, Annie has grown up to become a stunning young woman, and her shell bikini top and sparkling scaled skirt are incredibly becoming. I get the sudden urge to throw my jacket around her shoulders so no one else can see her so scantily clad, but I restrain myself. "You look beautiful," I murmur in her ear.

"Thanks," she smiles at me.

Mikael shows up, and we head down with Pompey and our tributes to the huge room where the chariots are waiting. In my Games, I used this opportunity to meet and greet my fellow contestants. Since I have no intention of letting Annie anywhere near anyone who might kill her, I lead her straight to her own chariot and help her aboard.

Thomas clambers up next to her a second later, looking disgruntled. "What's wrong, champ?" I ask, punching him on the arm in a brotherly fashion.

"This stupid skirt," the twelve-year-old grumbles, tugging at the shiny material wrapped around his waist. On Annie the outfit looks gorgeous; on a skinny little boy, it looks sort of ridiculous.

"Don't worry about it," I say bracingly. "No one really pays attention to the opening ceremonies. It's the interviews where tributes really get a chance to shine." I don't have the heart to tell him that no one in their right minds will sponsor a twelve-year-old kid. As far as I remember, only two twelve-year-olds have ever won, and I'm pretty certain that they were both by dumb luck.

Thomas grins down at me, and Annie ruffles his hair fondly. A sudden thought strikes me. "Are you two thinking of being allies in the arena?" I ask.

Annie and Thomas glance at each other, obviously having not considered this. "But isn't there only one victor?" Thomas says uncomfortably. His hesitation, and obvious dismay over the idea of killing Annie, makes me like him even more.

"Yes," I agree. "But allies can help you survive the initial bloodbath. How about this? You two stick together until you're the final two. Then, when everyone else is dead, you worry about which of you is getting out of this thing alive. Understand me?"

They both nod, although I can tell they're thinking the same thing, because I'm thinking it too. Neither of them is exactly victor material, so the odds of both of them surviving to the end are pretty slim. Put that way, my plan makes perfect sense, because they'll never be put in the position of actually figuring out which of them is going to win.

Mikael wanders over. "Giving advice to my tribute again, Odair?"

"You're a bit busy ingratiating yourself with the Gamemakers, so I decided to pick up the slack," I say rudely. "Unlike you, I actually care what happens to these kids."

Mikael shrugs and wanders away.

A gong sounds from somewhere, and the chariots start to roll out. "Smile and wave," I shout at Annie and Thomas as their chariot heads for the door, the horses so well trained that they don't need anyone to steer them. Annie turns, smiles, and waves, and I blow her a kiss for good luck.

It's a fairly average opening ceremonies. District 7 tributes dressed as trees, District 10 tributes dressed as sheep. I go to stand with the mentors, and am pleasantly surprised to see that Johanna is a mentor. "Couldn't get out of it this year?"

Johanna's scowling face breaks out into a sunny grin when she sees me. Then she glances at the chariots winding their way around City Circle and her expression darkens. "I heard about your friend," she says loudly. "Haymitch told me. What the hell is Snow playing at?"

I clap my hand over her mouth before she starts spouting rebellious sentiments. Johanna has never been one to keep her opinions to herself. "Snow knew nothing about it," I assure her quietly. "An honest clerical error, if you can believe it."

"I can't," she snaps.

"Well, I can, so deal with it."

We watch the ceremonies silently. When Annie and Thomas pass us by, waving and smiling like I suggested, Johanna eyes Annie with a calculating look. "She's pretty."

"I suppose," I say noncommittally.

Johanna shoots me a disbelieving look. "You're kidding me, right? She's gorgeous, and the only reason you wouldn't admit that is if... are you sure she's just a friend?"

"I'm allowed to have attractive female friends," I point out. "I have you, don't I?"

"Sure," Johanna snorts. "But that's only because I'd kick your ass if you tried to hit on me."

"Annie's..." I say, and trail off when she catches my eye and her fake smile suddenly transforms into a real, genuinely happy one. Then Johanna slaps me so hard that I almost topple into the person next to me. "What the hell?" I half-shout. Luckily no one but Johanna can hear me over the cheering crowds.

"You're in love with that girl!" Johanna accuses, like I've committed some tremendous crime.

"Preposterous," I say. "She's my friend."

But Johanna is watching me with wide eyes. Then she starts jabbing my chest with her index finger as the accusations pour from her lips. "That's why you volunteered to mentor her. That's why you didn't bother to come find me as soon as the Games started. That's why you look like the world is on the verge of crashing down on your shoulders. That's why you—"

"Fine," I explode. "I'm in love with Annie Cresta? Are you happy now?"

"Extremely," Johanna gloats. "Have you told her?"

"No."

She smacks me again.

"Stop doing that!" I protest.

"That girl is going to die in a few days!" Johanna tells me sternly. "The least you can do is let her know that she has someone who cares about her, waiting for her to come back. Would you have tried as hard as you did in the arena if your family weren't waiting for you?"

"You tell me," I return nastily, annoyed that she keeps hitting me. "You didn't have anyone to come back to, and yet here you are."

Johanna suddenly looks away, and I can tell she's hurt, even though she's doing her best not to show it. "Screw you, Odair."

"Wait," I say quickly, grabbing her arm. It's a chancy thing to do, because she could easily use it as leverage to drop me to the ground, but she restrains herself. Before Johanna can change her mind, I say, "I'm sorry. That was cruel. Your family loved you, and it was a tragedy that they died."

"They died because I wouldn't play Snow's game," Johanna mutters.

This is news to me. "Are you serious?"

"I didn't know about the deal," she says darkly. "He called me in, told me what he wanted from me, and I told him to go to hell. He warned me that there would be consequences, and I told him that there was nothing he could do to make me change my mind. So he pressed a button and my entire family was wiped out in a burst of gunfire."

I'm stunned because I had no idea that this was how her family had died. It would certainly explain her fatalistic outlook on life, and I don't think I've ever felt this sorry for someone. "Johanna, that's..."

She shakes her head. "I don't want your pity, Odair. You did the smart thing. You played along. I wasn't that strong. I couldn't do it, and my family paid the price. And now I'm paying. Every day."

"Not alone," I promise her. "I'm always here for you, Johanna. Whenever you need me."

"I know," Johanna says. Then she smiles. "At least Snow won't be around for much longer."

I can't help but grin as well. "Not if we have anything to say about it."

When I escort Annie back up to the fourth floor after the opening ceremonies, I say goodnight and start to head for my room. Her hand on my arm stops me in my tracks. "Finnick," Annie says awkwardly. "Would you... I mean, would it be possible to..."

Without saying a word, I turn towards her room and hold the door open for her. Her smile is soft and grateful as she passes by me inside. I head for the couch, and have made myself more or less comfortable by the time she emerges from the bathroom in her sleeping gown. "Sorry," she says, looking embarrassed. "You just... drive away the nightmares."

"I get it," I assure her. "Annie, I'd do anything for you, you know that. If that means sleeping on your couch to ward off bad dreams, then I'm happy to do it."

She settles into her bed. What I wouldn't give to be snuggling up beside her, wrapped around her slim body as a physical guard against the fears that plague her at night. But I would never do that unless she asked, and Annie is way too proper to consider doing such a thing. "Good night," she whispers, and I feel the now-familiar ache that comes from being so near to her, and yet so far away.

For training the next day, I pull Annie to the side before she can go into the training room and ask her if there's any weapon she might be interested in trying out. She looks at me miserably and says, "Finnick, I'm not you. I can't kill someone."

Ouch. That hurts. But Annie obviously didn't mean it that way, so I move on. "Things change, in the arena. Annie, all these kids are going to be trying to kill you. Are you saying that if one of them charges at you with a sword, you're going to let them skewer you?"

"Of course not," she says indignantly, sticking her hands on her hips. "I'll run away and try to hide, or something. But I won't kill another human being, Finnick. I refuse."

I knew that she would say this, of course, but I had to make sure. "In that case," I say, steering her gently away from the weapons booths, "stick to survival skills. You've got knot tying down, so go for edible plants and camouflage, alright?"

Annie bites her lip. "Alright."

Three days of training pass, Annie wandering from booth to booth – often joined by Thomas – watching as her fellow tributes throw knives and spar with swords. It becomes painfully clear to me that Annie will not survive on her own. There has to be something that I can do, but I can't figure out what. Even if Mags hadn't sent me all those gifts, I'm reasonably certain that I could have still won my Games. Not as tidily, sure, but I have the strength and instinct to win. Annie doesn't.

On the last day, the Gamemakers shoo all the tributes out of the hall and call them back in one by one for their private evaluation sessions. "What do I do?" Annie asks me.

"Whatever you feel like," I say. Honestly, it doesn't matter what she does. Low score or high, she won't pull in sponsors or allies. Annie is too obviously a sweet girl with absolutely no chance of winning the upcoming bloodbath.

Later that evening, the District Four team sits in our common room and watches as the scores are broadcasted. Thomas gets a three, and Annie pulls a four. I ask her what she did, and she says that she tied some knots. It surprises me that this got her a four, until she adds that she made a noose.

"I was feeling... rebellious," she says with a small smile. "I guess they thought I was giving them a prelude to my plan in the arena." It's a sound enough theory – tributes have gotten pretty far by trapping their enemies in elaborate rope nets and snares in the past.

Like that first night, I spend each night on Annie's couch, twisting and turning in my attempts to find a comfortable position. I never complain, though, because Annie would then insist on me sleeping in my own room. And that is simply not an option.

On the last day before the Games officially start – interview day – I leave Annie in the dubious care of her prep team and hop across City Circle to the Victor's Spire to see what Beetee has come up with. I find him and Wiress in one of the lounges, sipping coffee and staring intently at a large sheet of paper.

"Hey," I greet, sitting down next to them. "So?"

Beetee gives me a grave look. "Finnick, I have been wracking my brain, trying to come up with some way to save your friend, but..."

I know his answer, so I finish the thought for him. "But a way just doesn't exist."

"I'm afraid so," Beetee says sadly.

Their failure makes being in their presence unbearable, so I mutter my thanks for their efforts and trudge back to the Training Center. I run into Johanna on the way. She immediately senses my mood, and suggests that we go for a swim. When I just stare at her numbly, Johanna nudges me and says, "Come on, Finnick, public nudity, you know you want to."

I don't particularly want to, as I'm busy envisioning the myriad forms that Annie's inevitable death might take, but it's usually easier to go along with Johanna's whims than resist. We end up in a park – different than our last one – and soon are naked and floating lazily in the cool water.

"Stop moping," Johanna eventually says, an annoyed edge to her voice. I explain about Beetee and Wiress, and their failure to come up with a plan to help Annie survive the arena. This causes Johanna to grab my shoulders and shove me unceremoniously underwater. When I flip around and smoothly resurface, making sure to splash her in the process, she sputters and snaps, "I don't care what Beetee says. Friends don't give up on friends. So stop being a whiny little bitch and figure out how to save your girlfriend."

Having never been called a whiny little bitch before, the novelty of the situation manages to snap me out of my stupor. "Thanks, Johanna," I say with feeling.

"Well, someone had to tell it like it is," Johanna huffs.

"And I appreciate it," I assure her. And then I push her under the water for insulting me.


	37. Part 3: Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Eleven**

The interviews go as well as I could have hoped. Annie and I spend the afternoon going over her style, and we decide on sweet, innocent school girl who's in way over her head. My hope is that she'll get the pity vote, and perhaps that will pull in a sponsor or two. I have a sizeable pool of funds to draw from already, now that Beetee has supervised the sale of my lovers' trinkets on the black market, but extra sponsors have never hurt anyone.

She gets up on stage, and Caesar Flickerman – this year in shades of yellow – leads her through a series of generic questions. Annie manages her nerves well, and maintains a sweet smile throughout the entire three minute segment. At the end, Flickerman gives a great sigh and says, "Well, Annie, I wish you well in the arena."

"Thanks," she says, and she stares out at the audience with a look of such helpless distress that a couple of people get tears in their eyes. Apparently I'm not the only person in District Four that has some skill in acting. Although I don't think that Annie's acting.

We head back to our rooms, and Thomas gives a great gulp, then throws his arms around my waist. Now that I'm almost fully grown, it's hard to remember that I used to be his height. It reminds me how far I've come since my Games, and how short Thomas' life is going to be. "Get to bed," I tell him gruffly, because I can feel the sadness welling up inside me. "You're going to be fine."

Thomas laughs bitterly. "Sure I will. Goodnight, Finnick. Thanks for everything."

I'm not sure I've done all that much, to be honest. "No problem," I tell him. When did he become so jaded?

Annie is already in her room, so I knock on the door before entering in case she's changing. "Come in," she calls, and I step inside the room and close the door behind me. I start to head for the couch, but Annie intercepts me halfway there. She grabs my hand and tugs me over to the bed.

"What is it?" I ask her, sitting down beside her. I'm careful to keep a decent amount of space between us, because there's nothing I'd like better than to gather her up in my arms and kiss her fears away, and that absolutely cannot happen. Annie has to be focused for tomorrow, and sudden declarations of love probably won't contribute to that.

"There's something that I need to tell you, before I go into the arena," she says seriously, which takes me aback. Annie isn't exactly a bubbly person, but I've never seen her like this. There's genuine fear in her eyes, as well as determination, and I have no idea what she's going to tell me.

"You can tell me anything," I remind her.

"Right," Annie says, and she looks down at her hands shyly.

She's never been shy around me before, and it alarms me. I seize her hands in mine and squeeze them. "Annie. What's wrong?"

This apparently gives her the boost of confidence she needs, because Annie looks me straight in the eye and says, "Finnick, I love you. I've been in love with you since the day I met you. I didn't realize it until you protected me from Reef at that school dance, but now I do, and I just can't go to my death without you knowing how I feel about you."

I don't say a word, because I have no idea what to say. She loves me. Not just loves me, like a friend loves another friend, but is in love with me. I'd never considered the possibility because, well, Annie's my friend. I'm so used to women falling in love with me at first sight that I'd never considered that her love for me might creep up as slowly as mine did for her.

"I get it," Annie says, standing up abruptly. "You have all those fancy Capitol lovers – what could you possibly see in a girl like me? I just wanted you to know, because you're my friend, and I tell you everything. It seemed silly to keep secrets when we both know I'm not coming back alive."

She looks incredibly hurt. My mind is still having trouble with this stunning revelation that the woman of my dreams loves me as much as I do her, but I force the words out of my mouth anyway because I can't stand to see Annie looking so sad. "Annie, I love you too."

Annie laughs shortly. "You think I don't know what you're doing? Finnick, you're my best friend in the world. I can tell when you're trying to make me feel better. But don't lie to me."

I've always been good under pressure. And this is possibly the most stressful situation I've ever found myself in. The words still aren't flowing the way I want them to, so I leap to my feet, wrap my arms around her, and kiss her passionately. One of my many lovers once said that my kisses convey more than words possibly can, and I'm hoping that this holds true now.

Annie's lips are still under mine, but after a few agonizing seconds she finally starts to respond. I deepen the kiss, determined to show her how I feel when my words were so obviously inadequate. She kisses me back, so sweetly that my heart nearly breaks.

"Annie," I say softly, in between kisses. I can feel her breath catch in her throat at the emotion in my voice. "Annie, I'm not lying to you. You are the kindest, sweetest, most beautiful girl that I've ever met. How could I do anything but fall for you? How could I do anything but love you?"

She pulls away slightly. "But all those women..."

"They mean nothing to me," I tell her earnestly. "Annie, the only girl I've ever loved isn't sitting in some fancy Capitol apartment sipping wine. She's right here, in my arms."

Annie still isn't buying it. And I don't blame her, because anywhere you go in Panem, my name is synonymous with 'womanizer'. So I unlock my heart and let the words flow. "You've always been dear to me, but when I heard your name called at the Reaping, the reality of the situation hit home. I realized that this might be the last time I ever saw you, and I felt like I was in physical pain. When I understood that it was because I was in love with you, and had been for years, everything suddenly fell into place. All those strange feelings I couldn't place, the protectiveness, the jealousy..."

The best part about Annie is that she understands me, perhaps better than even Natare, and this works now in my favour. "You... love me," she says softly, as shocked by this revelation as I was by hers. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I needed you to stay focused on the Games. Annie, you could die out there. Any distraction—"

"I've been driving myself crazy these last few days, trying to decide whether or not I should tell you, wondering if you'd let me down gently or laugh in my face, and all this time you've been in love with me!" Annie says, and suddenly her face is red and she's yelling at me. "Did it not occur to you that I might appreciate knowing that my best friend in the entire world loves me?"

"Well, when you put it like that," I mutter, feeling like a complete idiot.

"I'm sorry," she says, suddenly miserable. "I shouldn't have yelled at you."

Since kissing her worked so well last time, I pull Annie close and press my lips to hers. She basically melts in my arms, pressing her soft curves against me, and I suddenly understand why people are so obsessed with finding love. There's no feeling in the world quite like the elated contentment that comes from loving Annie, and knowing that she loves me back.

I realize suddenly that it's getting late, and that Annie needs to sleep if she's going to survive the arena tomorrow. Pulling away, I kiss her softly on the head and say, "You should sleep."

Annie ignores me and kisses me with such ardour that we overbalance and tumble onto the bed. The most incredible desire sweeps through me, greater than anything I've ever experienced, and by the time I've emerged from the passionate haze, I'm shirtless and Annie's lying beneath me in only her skimpy nightgown.

The warning bells go off in my head, and I abruptly pull away. "Annie, I can't do this."

For a second I'm terrified that she's going to take my words as a rejection, but Annie once again manages to astonish me. "I get that you're trying to be a gentleman, Finnick," she whispers. "But I'm not getting out of that arena alive. So if it's alright with you, I'd very much like it if you could make love to me once before I die."

"You're not going to die," I say fiercely.

"Prove it," Annie says. "Give me a reason to come back to you."

So I lower my lips to hers, and I give her a reason.

The soft sound of breathing wakes me up the next morning. Annie is in my arms, head against my chest as she slumbers, legs wrapped around mine. I don't think I've ever experienced such a feeling of complete and utter peace. And then reality sinks in.

"Annie," I whisper, kissing her hair. "Sweetheart, you have to get up. The Games are going to start soon, and you need to be awake for that."

She snuggles against my chest, and I have to remind myself that staying like this all day, tempting as it may be, is not a viable course of action. "Come on, love," I murmur, stroking her hair gently. "Time to get up."

Annie has no intention of leaving the bed, so I disentangle myself from her, climb over her and off the bed, and pull on my pants. Then I reach down and hoist her up in my arms. Apparently she's never been carried by a man while naked before, because she wakes right up and starts to giggle. "Put me down, Finnick!"

"I'll make you a deal," I say conspiratorially. "If I put you down, you have to take a shower."

She sticks her tongue out at me. "Fine. But only if you kiss me."

I roll my eyes. "Because it's so hard to convince me to kiss you." I set her down on her feet, then kiss her soundly. Annie's swaying slightly when I release her.

"I have to say," she smiles. "I think I understand why the women in Capitol are so obsessed with you. You're... amazing."

I give a bark of laughter. "Are you referring to my looks, my charm, or my sexual technique?"

And Annie, because she's still a sweet, conservative girl at heart, blushes and whispers, "All three." I suddenly get this unbearable urge to hug her, so I embrace her and squeeze her as close to me as humanly possible. "I thought you wanted me to take a shower?" she mumbles into my shoulder.

"I changed my mind," I inform her. "I quite like you the way you are."

Annie glances down and apparently realizes for the first time that she's naked. "Finnick!" She all but flies into the bathroom, and I almost fall over on the floor laughing.

When she walks out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later, dressed in a plain blue tunic and looking sombre, I remember how we came to be in the this situation in the first place. As if reading my thoughts, Pompey starts banging on the door a second later, calling that Annie needs to be in the common room in fifteen minutes.

Annie twists her hands together anxiously, and my protective instincts kick in. I try to think of some way to comfort her, and in an unexpected flash of genius the answer comes to me. "Sit down," I urge her, and I position her cross-legged on the bed, facing away from me. "I want to try something."

Rummaging through her cupboards, I find combs and elastics. Thinking back to my single and only attempt at hair braiding, I proceed to fashion Annie's hair into a respectable version of the multi-braided style that the girls in District Four favour. She hasn't worn her hair this way since her parents died, but I think that Annie will appreciate a reminder of her parents on a day like this.

When I'm done, she pats her head curiously, and then goes over to the wall mirror. Annie gasps when she sees what I've done. I'm not sure whether it's a happy or angry gasp until she throws her arms around me and kisses me. "Thank you," she says, and I see the tears pooling in her eyes. "It's perfect."

"I love you," I tell her. "And I'm going to do everything I can to bring you home. Promise me that you'll remember."

"I'll remember," she swears.

Pompey leads her off, and as soon as her braided head disappears between the closing elevator doors, I press the down button. The elevator returns quickly, and I press the correct buttons that will take me to the Sponsorship Room.

A few of the mentors are there already, spread out in their individual workstations, readying themselves for the weeks ahead. The monitors that take up the walls are currently set to act like windows, showing a spectacular view of Capitol at dawn. But I'm more concerned with Haymitch, who is inexplicably awake and sober, sitting at his desk with folded arms and staring at nothing in particular.

I walk over to him and lean against his desk. "You're up early."

Haymitch gives a noncommittal grunt. "I've got at least one fighter this year. Hoping for a miracle."

I stare out the window, knowing that Annie is somewhere out there, hover crafting her way to whatever horrors the Gamemakers have in store for her. "I know the feeling."

Almost two hours later, Claudius Templesmith's voice booms out over the speakers, and the screens cut to the Hunger Games live footage. "Let the 70th Hunger Games begin!" he bellows, and I see the tributes' heads appear as they are raised on golden platforms out of the earth. The arena this year is exactly as Beetee guessed – a tree-filled basin with a single river cutting through the middle.

"Go for the river," I urge Annie under my breath. I told her at one point to just avoid the bloodbath and ignore the cornucopia entirely, and I'm hoping that she does as I advised.

The one minute mark passes, and the screen erupts in a flurry of motion. Tributes lunge forward towards the cornucopia, seeking the best weapons and provisions for themselves. And Annie, to my intense relief, turns right around and books it for the river. My heart almost stops when I see that someone is following her, until I realize that it's Thomas. He stops and grabs a small pack before he pursues her, and I pray that it contains something useful.

Part of being a mentor means that we can control which camera we are looking through. While the people of Panem have to watch the Games from whatever viewpoint the Gamemakers decide, we mentors can view the Games through any camera we want, switching between them at will. So although I keep most of the screen devoted to Annie, I constantly switch viewpoints to the other tributes to keep track of where they are. Only when I see that none of them are near Annie and Thomas do I relax.

Annie and Thomas continue up the river, the water effectively obscuring both their tracks and scent. By mid-afternoon they've put themselves a good distance from the cornucopia, and they stop to rest under a large willow tree. Thomas unzips the backpack and pours out the contents. One canister for water, empty. One hunting knife. One compass. One blanket. One roll of bandages. Six energy bars. Not nearly as much as I'd hoped for, but far more than I'd expected.

"What should we do now?" Annie asks, leaning her head back against the tree trunk.

Thomas looks up from where he is putting the items back into the bag. "Continue upriver, I guess. We have enough food for three meals, but past that we'll need to find our own."

"Then let's get going," Annie suggests, and they stand up and continue on their way.

When night falls, they climb a tree and curl up together, wrapping the blanket around them and tying it to the branches to keep them from falling off. Thomas drifts off immediately, but Annie looks up into the sky. I wonder what she's thinking, until I see her lips moving.

"Goodnight, Finnick," she whispers to the stars. "I love you."

I can't help myself. My funds are limited, but she needs to know that I'm watching over her. A little silver parachute floats down into her hands a few seconds later. Annie gives a delighted gasp and unwraps the package. Inside is a tiny mesh bag of sugar cubes. She pulls them against her heart, and slips into sleep with a smile.

Haymitch wanders over to my station, clearly about to turn in for the night. "How's she doing?"

"She's going to make it," I tell him.

Haymitch eyes me for one long moment, and then nods. "I hope you're right."


	38. Part 3: Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Twelve**

Tragedy strikes four days later. Annie and Thomas continue upstream, with the stated intention to get as far away from the rest of the other tributes as possible while staying close to a freshwater source. It's a smart plan, but the other tributes have also figured out that the only water is the river, which means that Annie and Thomas are eventually going to run into one of them.

Then, on the afternoon of the fifth day, a girl from District 5 roams perilously close to where Annie and Thomas are resting. Her name is Ara, and she's completely committed to the game – she split open the head of another tribute with a hatchet during the initial bloodbath, and has since tracked down and killed two others.

I freeze over the controls, trying to figure out what sort of gift I can send Annie to warn her that Ara is coming for them. Then it hits me. In District Four, out on the fishing boats, one of the worst things you can encounter is a shark, because they ram against the boat and scare away the fish. I scroll frantically through the gift database, trying to find what I'm looking for. When I can't spot it immediately, I switch on my headset and bark, "I want to buy a bowl of shark fin soup."

The gift pops up on my screen a second later, and moments after this it's floating down into Annie's bemused but waiting hands. She and Thomas carefully unwrap the silver package, and they both recognize it instantly. "Shark fin soup?" Thomas blinks, and then smiles widely. "Thank god, I was starving."

They were able to catch fish in the stream, but the hunger pangs have obviously been eating away at them, because Annie and Thomas immediately devour the soup. I'm on the verge of despair, because neither of them understands the symbolism behind the gift. And when I glance over at the screen that I have trained on Ara, I see that she's only a few hundred yards away.

"Dammit!" I shout, smashing my fists against the desk. Johanna's at my side a second later, peering over my shoulder curiously.

"What's wrong?" She studies my screens for a second, and then mutters, "Shit."

Then suddenly, thankfully, Annie looks up curiously at the sky. "Shark fin soup?" she murmurs. "Bread would have been more filling, and cheaper as well."

"Maybe our mentors just want us to have a taste of home," Thomas shrugs, licking the soup off his fingers. By "our" mentors he means only me, because when Thomas failed to pull in any sponsors, Mikael wandered off and hasn't shown his face in the Sponsorship room since then.

Annie's lovely face is twisted in thought. "No," she says slowly. "Finnick wouldn't... sharks!" Her eyes flash with understanding. "Thomas, someone's coming, we need to run!"

Thomas lunges for the backpack, but it's too late. Ara bursts out of the trees, sees Annie and Thomas, and pulls a machete from her belt. Thomas doesn't stand a chance. He's closer to her than Annie, so Ara brings the machete around and chops off his head in a shower of blood and bone. He doesn't even have the time to scream.

But Annie does. She screams, and screams, and it's like nothing I've ever heard before. Her eyes are wide, deranged, her arms jerking spastically at her side. Even Ara is taken aback. She stares at Annie and shouts, "What the hell's wrong with you?"

"She's snapped," Johanna whispers.

It appears that Johanna's right. Annie's mouth opens and closes a few times, and then she turns and sprints off into the trees. Ara doesn't even try to follow her, unnerved by Annie's unhinged behaviour. Annie runs for almost an hour, zigzagging wildly through the woods, and then she climbs a tree, curls up in the branches, and lies there crying and shaking and mumbling nonsense.

I realize that Johanna is still standing next to me, watching not the screen, but me, with an intensely worried expression. "Finnick," she says carefully. "Are you alright?"

"Annie," I whisper, because I can't take my eyes off her. She's in pain – not physical pain, but emotional and mental pain – and there isn't a thing I can do to help her. But it's more than that. Johanna is right. Annie's mind has snapped. Seeing Thomas beheaded like that has loosened her hold on reality. She shakes and mutters long strings of disconnected words, and I want nothing more than to be there to hold her and tell her that everything will be fine, but I can't, and it's killing me.

Haymitch is suddenly behind me, and together he and Johanna try to pry me away from the desk. But this takes me away from Annie, and I fight them tooth and nail to let me go. Finally Haymitch says, "This is for your own good," and jabs a needle into my arm.

When I regain consciousness, I'm back in my own room, and Johanna's sitting by me, staring at me. "Hey," I groan, clapping a hand to my forehead when my head starts to throb. "What happened?"

"What happened?" Johanna snarls, unmistakeably angry with me, although I have no idea why. "Your girlfriend saw her partner get killed, went batshit, ran off into the trees screaming her head off, and you just shut down completely. When Haymitch and I tried to help you, you started attacking us, so Haymitch drugged you." She tilts her head, and I see a nasty bruise forming on her right cheek.

"Johanna, I'm sorry," I say miserably.

Johanna tries to keep glaring at me, but eventually her face softens. "I've kept an eye on Annie for you. You were out for twelve hours. She's still curled up in her tree, but the Gamemakers started a forest fire on the opposite side of the arena. The fire's over, but the other tributes will be headed her way soon enough."

I sit up abruptly. "I have to go."

"Go where?" Johanna demands. "Nothing you send Annie's going to make any difference now. Did you hear what I said? She's lost it. She hasn't moved in twelve hours, and she hasn't stopped rambling deliriously either."

I don't know where I'm going, but I know that I have to help Annie. And then Johanna gives me a destination.

"Damn it, Finnick, you can't do anything to help her! Just let her go!"

"Damn," I mutter, and the word sparks an idea in my mind. "Damn. Dam. Water. River. Dam." The spark becomes a fully fledged plan, and I leap to my feet. "Johanna, keep watching Annie for me. Send her food if she gets hungry."

Johanna stares after me as I pull on pants and a shirt. "Where are you going?" she asks.

"To buy a miracle," I say.

I head straight for the Sponsorship room, walk over to Haymitch, grab his shoulder, and spin him around. "Where can I find Seneca Crane?"

Haymitch is tipsy, but still sober enough to see that I'm deadly serious. "Gamemaker's Spire. Next to the Victor's Spire. Why?"

I ignore him, sprinting for the elevator. I jump inside, hit the ground floor button, and within minutes am running up the steps of the Gamemaker's Spire. A peacekeeper stops me at the main doors. "What business do you have with the Gamemakers?" he asks.

"I need to see Seneca Crane," I reply, panting. "Tell him it's Finnick Odair."

It takes a few minutes, but someone must have found Crane and delivered the message, because the Peacekeeper waves me inside. I'm escorted up to the top floor, and am left outside an ornate door that has "Seneca Crane, Head Gamemaker," inscribed on a large metal plaque.

I pound on the door with my fist, and Crane opens it a moment later. "Finnick," he says, opening the door. "I must admit, I was surprised to hear that you wanted to see me." He peers closer at me. "Are you quite alright?"

I grab the door and shut it behind me, trapping Crane and I inside his office. I take a deep breath, and then say, "What do I have to do to buy an earthquake?"

Crane stares at me for a long moment, and then laughs loudly. "Oh, you had me going for a second there, my boy! An earthquake! Ha ha ha."

"I'm not kidding," I tell him, and when he keeps laughing I seize the lapels of his jacket and yank him very close to me, so that his suddenly wary gaze is locked on mine. "Annie Cresta is my friend, and I intend to see her leave that arena alive. There's a dam up in the mountains that's holding back the river's full force. I want you to start an earthquake that will break the dam and flood the arena."

I release Crane, and he stumbles back. As he brushes dust off his shoulders, he says lightly, "Mister Odair, are you threatening me?"

It's my turn to laugh. "What could I possibly threaten you with, sir? No, I'm not threatening you. I'm bribing you. I want that earthquake, and I will trade whatever you want to get it."

This is my desperate gamble, because in my experiences with the Capitol thus far, I've learned that anyone can be bought, if the price is right. And I'm sure that Crane is no exception. The only question is whether or not I'll be able to afford it.

Crane retreats to his desk and pulls up a schematic of the arena. He taps his finger pensively against his chin. I go and sit across from him, waiting for him to speak. Finally, he says, "It can be done. In fact, it might be fun – I can't remember the arena having ever been flooded before. Should make for some entertaining sport."

I breathe a deep sigh of relief. "Then you'll do it."

Crane smirks at me. "Oh, I'll do it alright. But you have to do something for me first."

I hear his terms, and they aren't good. I nod woodenly, tell him I'll do what I can, and hurry back to the Training Center. I take the elevator to the Sponsorship room, locate Johanna, and crouch down beside her.

"Hey Finnick," she greets. "Annie's still alive."

"Good." I want to glance at her screen, to see that Annie really is alright, but I can't. If I do, I may not be able to tear myself away, and then she'll be dead for sure. "Johanna, I need to talk to you."

She peers down at me curiously. "Is this about your miracle?"

I hang my head down, unable to meet her gaze. "Yes."

We go to the fourth floor, and I sit her down on the couch before I start to speak. "Johanna, I went to see Seneca Crane. I realized that the only way Annie's going to survive this is if she has an advantage that doesn't involve violence."

Johanna looks completely bewildered. "I don't get it."

"There's a dam holding back a large part of the river," I explain. "I asked Crane if he would be willing to start an earthquake that would break the dam, and flood the arena."

"And if the arena flooded..." Johanna trails off, her eyes widening. "Annie's the best swimmer out of all the tributes. She'd survive just by outlasting the others."

"Exactly," I say. "But Crane has one request. More of a demand, actually. And if I don't meet it, then he won't flood the arena."

Johanna punches my shoulder. "You love her, you idiot. Why do you even have to think about it? Just say yes. How bad could it possibly be?"

"I can't say yes," I say, catching her gaze, "because it's not me that he wants something from. It's you."

"Me?" Johanna blinks. "What do you mean?"

I look away uncomfortably. "Crane says that he's desired you since the day you won the Games, but because you have no family, Snow had no leverage to sell you off to the highest bidder, which means that he couldn't buy your company."

"I don't understand," Johanna says, although by the tremor in her voice I'm sure that she does.

"The price for the earthquake that will save Annie's life," I say quietly, "is that you have to sleep with Seneca Crane."

Johanna jerks away from me, a look of betrayal in her eyes. "Finnick, you can't ask me to do this." I can tell from the way her fists are clenched that she's restraining the urge to punch me.

"I love her," I tell her helplessly. "If it were me that Crane wanted in his bed, I'd do it in a heartbeat."

"But he's a man."

"I have to save her!" I shout. "Do you get that? If she doesn't walk out of that arena alive, then my life is over!"

Johanna punches me in the face. My nose cracks sickeningly, but I don't move a muscle. Then she walks over to the elevator and pushes the button. I don't stop her, or yell at her for hitting me, because I've said my piece and now it's up to her – and, quite frankly, I deserve being punched for what I'm asking her to do. I doubt she'll say yes, and I've probably just destroyed our friendship, but I had to try.

As the doors slide open, Johanna turns to me and says, "I'll think about it." Then the doors close, and she's gone.


	39. Part 3: Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Thirteen**

I stop by the med center to get my nose set, and then continue on to the Sponsorship room. Not sure what to do with myself – Annie's fate, and I suppose mine as well, is now in Johanna's hands – I go to my workstation and collapse in my chair, watching Annie mutter crazily to herself in her treetop.

Haymitch wanders over a few hours later.

"How's the girl doing?"

"She's lost her mind," I say tiredly. "But she's alive."

Haymitch pats my shoulder. Then he offers me his bottle, and I take a large swig. It feels like he wants to say something, but after a while he just shakes his head and walks away. What is there to say? Watching the girl you love slowly die in front of you... what words are there to ease that pain?

I end up staying the night in the Sponsorship room, and I catch a few hours of rest in my chair. A couple of the other mentors stay as well, because there are only eight tributes left and the Games are winding down. All the mentors need to be on hand in case the Gamemakers pull something nasty out of their sleeves.

And then, as the first rays of dawn peek over the horizon, I hear a rumbling noise coming from my speakers. At first I don't know what to make of it, until I hear the elevator doors slide open. Johanna walks into the room, a blank look on her face, and I put two and two together.

Before I know what's happening, I've raced across the floor and enveloped Johanna in my arms. She rests her head against my shoulder, and I can feel her tears leaking through my shirt, although she doesn't make a sound. "You did it," I whisper. "You did it. Thank you, Johanna. Thank you so much."

She pulls away, and wipes a hand furiously across her teary eyes. "You owe me," she says.

"Anything you want," I promise her. "Anything in the world. Thank you, Johanna." I hug her again, unable to contain my joy, and after a moment she reluctantly hugs me back. Then she punches my arm to get me to release her.

"You're a complete bastard, you know that?" she snaps.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"I had a boyfriend before the Games, you know," she adds out of the blue. "Crane was... nothing like him."

I'm relieved beyond belief that Crane isn't the first man that she's slept with, because if I forced her to give away her virginity to that monster, I don't think I could ever forgive myself. Johanna abruptly steps toward me and smacks me forcefully upside the head. "What are you waiting for, you idiot? Your girlfriend's about to have the swim of her life, so go cheer her on."

We hurry over to my station, and I flip the monitors away from Annie over to the mountains. Sure enough, they're shaking in the grips of an earthquake, and a few minutes later the dam breaks. Water cascades down from the mountains, swallowing everything in its path in a frothing white wave. I glance around the room, and see the other mentors swearing and speeding through the gift database for some sort of water flotation device to send their tributes. From their cursing, I'm guessing that Crane purposely removed them, probably to make the Games more interesting.

Johanna starts snickering. "I bribed Crane with Annie's sponsorship money to take the flotation devices out of the gift catalogue," she tells me, smiling deviously.

"Johanna," I tell her fervently, "I love you."

She rolls her eyes. "Save it for your girlfriend."

The entire forested basin is now covered in a layer of water, and the water level is slowly rising. Currently it's about waist height, but it's deepening rapidly. Three tributes were taken out by the initial wall of water, leaving five still alive, including Annie. Annie is still in her tree, although at least she's watching the water rise, which means she's not so far gone that she no longer is paying attention to her surroundings.

All the tributes climb up into the trees to avoid the water. Several of them try to hack off branches, but it's hard work to saw through the thick bark, and only one of them manages to get a thin branch in his hands before the water has risen up to branch level. In ten more minutes, the water level has cleared the tops of the trees entirely, and the once-green basin is now a flat, featureless expanse of blue.

The tributes struggle to stay afloat. Two go down immediately, having absolutely no idea how to swim – which leaves three. The boy who hacked off the branch fares well at first, but then another wall of water races down from the mountains and he loses the branch. This really will be a swimming contest.

Branch boy tries floating on his back, which works fairly well. The other surviving tribute, a boy from District 5, doesn't think of this – how could he, if he's never swam before? He paddles frantically for about five minutes, and then with increasingly panicked shouts he slips further and further beneath the surface, until he disappears entirely.

It's now up to Branch boy and Annie. Annie is obviously completely out of it, but she's been swimming since before she could walk. She kind of paddles around in lazy circles, and I know that her mind is back in the seas of District Four, splashing around in the water while her parents fish atop their boat. Branch boy continues to float.

Crane obviously doesn't like the way things are going, so he starts sending dozens of small waves through the arena, making floating on your back impossible. It will come down to who is the best swimmer, and who can last the longest.

Hour after hour creeps by as both remaining tributes cling to life. Branch boy has clearly had experience swimming before, because he holds out for almost two hours. Eventually, finally, his body gives out on him, and with a great deal of sputtering and splashing he sinks under the waves.

A cannon shot booms, signalling Branch boy's death, and immediately the water begins to drain away. As a hovercraft appears over Annie's head and extends a ladder down to her, Claudius Templesmith booms, "Ladies and Gentlemen, the winner of the 70th Hunger Games: Annie Cresta, from District Four!"

It seems almost anti-climactic, and I wonder if the viewers in Capitol feel the same way. Usually the Games end with the victor hacking his fellow tribute to pieces. Lots of blood is generally involved. This ending seems almost peaceful by comparison.

On screen, the ladder is within easy reach of Annie, but she's not making any move towards it. She's turned over and is floating on her back, staring up at the blue sky with a dazed expression. In all my fears about Annie taking part in the Hunger Games, it never occurred to me that it might be her mind that suffered, and not her body.

Eventually the hovercraft realizes that Annie's not going to play along, because someone clambers down the ladder, grabs her unresisting arm, and pulls her aboard that way. Once she's out of sight, I'm finally able to relax for the first time in days. "It's over," I say. "I can't believe it."

Haymitch claps me on the shoulder. "You did it. Lucky stroke, that flood."

"Luck had nothing to do with it," Johanna mutters.

Haymitch glances at me sharply. "What's she talking about?"

I'm about to respond, when I realize that Haymitch, despite his drunken state, is stiff and on edge. I don't know why, until I see that peacekeepers have entered the Sponsorship room. Since bribing a Gamemaker is probably illegal, I immediately grasp the danger of the situation. "Nothing," I say, putting a hand on Johanna's arm and swivelling her slightly so that she sees the peacekeepers as well.

He nods. "That's what I thought. Keep it that way." Johanna and I exchange a long look, and then she nods as well.

Considering my own experience with the Games, I don't expect to see Annie for at least a few days while the doctors fix her up. It therefore surprises me completely when she staggers into our rooms a few hours later, supported by two avoxes and apparently none the worse for the wear. Then I realize that the nature of her victory means that she wasn't severely injured in any way – I imagine the doctors just pumped her full of nutrients, gave her a skin buff, and sent her on her way.

Mikael is gone, probably chatting up the Gamemakers, and Pompey didn't expect her back so quickly either, so he's disappeared off somewhere. This means I'm alone in the common room when Annie is led in. As soon as the avoxes are sure that she's safely deposited into her mentor's care, they turn and leave.

"Annie," I say hesitantly, taking a cautious step towards her. The doctors may have fixed her physically, but I doubt even the miracles of Capitol medicine could have cured Annie's mental meltdown in three or four hours.

Annie stares right past me, oblivious to her surroundings. I take another step forward, and she doesn't so much as acknowledge my presence. With great care and caution, I manoeuvre her over to the couch and help her sit down. She still gives no indication that she knows what's going on.

I take her hands in mine and try to hold her gaze. "Annie," I say softly. "It's me, Finnick. Do you remember me?"

Still nothing. I feel frustrated, not because of Annie, but because the Hunger Games did this to her, and clearly Snow has no intention of cleaning up his mess. Why else would they pronounce her physically fit and return her to me when she's so obviously in need of psychiatric help?

Well, I guess that makes me her personal psychiatrist. Remembering back to how alone and confused I felt after my own Games, I gently put my arms around her and hug her to me. Annie rests her head against my shoulder, but otherwise remains unresponsive.

After a while, I decide that whatever catatonic state she's gone into might be helped by some rest, so I help her up and lead her to her bedroom. I carefully undress her and put her in the softest nightgown I can find, and then tuck her under the covers. For at least two hours she just lies there, staring at the ceiling while I sit on the couch watching her anxiously. Then, finally, her eyes flutter closed and she drifts off into sleep.

I'm awoken in the night by screaming. Bolting awake, I see that Annie is thrashing around on the bed, tearing at the blankets, tears streaming down her cheeks, and screaming like someone is torturing her. I immediately race to her side and throw my arms around her, trapping her arms at her side so she can't injure herself or me.

This happens three more times during the night. After the third time, I'm so exhausted that I just mutter, "Screw it," and fall asleep in the bed beside her, unable to drag my body back over to the couch. Who knows, maybe my presence will help keep the nightmares at bay.

It seems to work. In the morning, she wakes up and, for the first time since she's returned from the arena, appears to actually take in her surroundings. She rolls over, sees me watching her, and says in a heartbreakingly fragile voice, "Finnick?"

"I'm here," I tell her instantly. "I'm here, Annie, and you're safe. It's all over. You survived, the Games are over, and you're safe now. And I love you, Annie. I love you so much."

Annie gets this incredibly confused expression on her face. "Why?"

The question throws me, but I do my best to answer it. "Because you're... you, Annie. You're beautiful, and smart, and fun, and being around you is like swimming in a coral reef on a warm, calm day."

Her lips purse together. "No."

"What?"

She sits up and looks around, dazed. "Why am I here?"

I guess that she's talking about the Games, so I say, "The Games are over. Do you remember the arena?" Annie nods jerkily. "There was a flood. You survived by swimming the longest."

A bewildered expression flashes across her face. "There was a boy..."

"Thomas. He... didn't make it."

Annie suddenly flies into a rage. "Of course he didn't make it! He died! His head was chopped off like he was just some mindless animal, and I stood there and watched it happen! And then she tried to kill me, and I killed her, and..."

Then her rage disappears and she bursts into tears.

And I'm suddenly terrified all over again, because Annie absolutely did not kill Ara, but for some reason she thinks that she did. "Annie, sweetheart, you didn't kill that girl. Why would you think that?"

"I... I remember doing it," she sniffs. "I mean, I think I do. Didn't I? Oh, Finnick, I don't know what's real anymore! Everything is just blurring together, and I can feel myself losing my grip on reality, but I don't know how to stop it!"

"Shh," I whisper, hugging her close. "It's alright. I'm here. I'll always be here. I love you. You can trust me. I'll take care of you. I'll help you. You don't have to be afraid."

The words have their desired effect. Annie calms down, and slowly drifts back to sleep, clutching my shirt and shaking.

Pompey knocks on the door a few hours later. "The post-Games interview starts in thirty minutes," he calls.

"She's not going," I respond shortly. When Pompey continues to knock on the door, I disentangle myself from Annie, get up, and wrench open the door. "Get lost. Annie isn't coming," I snarl.

Pompey is quite clearly intimidated, but he's too devoted to his job to take no for an answer. "I'm sorry about what happened to her, Finnick, but she has to go to the interview. If she doesn't come willingly, then the peacekeepers will take her by force."

I know he's right, so I go in and rouse Annie as gently as I can. She has another fit of hysterics, but I manage to get her into the interview outfit and down to the auditorium in the required time limit. When Pompey tells me that she has to go on stage, I seize her shoulders and shake Annie slightly. "Annie, I want you to switch off. Do you understand me? As soon as you sit down on stage, I want you to go off into your own little world, and don't come out again until you hear my voice."

Annie stares up at me for a long moment, and then nods. "I think I can do that."

I probably shouldn't, but I can't help myself. I give her a long, deep kiss, and then turn and walk away before she can see the anguish in my eyes.

Caesar Flickerman tries to engage Annie in conversation when the interview begins, but she does exactly as I said to. She closes her eyes and spaces out. Caesar glances at his producers for help, but they just shrug, as if to say, "She's crazy, what can you do?" So, after a few failed attempts at interaction with Annie, Caesar says, "And now, let's watch the highlights of this year's Hunger Games!"

The three hours of video drag by at a snail's pace for me, since the theme this year is of an unstable girl's descent into madness. I resolve to find out which filmmaker was in charge of the highlight reel this year, so I can give them a piece of my mind.

Snow orders me to meet with him as soon as the interview is over. I'm escorted by peacekeepers to his mansion, and soon I'm left alone in the rose room with Snow. The president has a mournful look on his face. "I'm so sorry to hear about what happened to Miss Cresta," he simpers. "The Hunger Games can be intense – it's such a tragedy that her mind was unable to handle the pressure."

I want to curse him, and yell at him, and possibly attack him, but none of that is going to help Annie. Instead, I put my acting skills to use and force some tears to my eyes. "I'm so lost," I say in my most depressed voice. "I don't know how to help her."

Snow pats me on the back, and I have to restrain the urge to break his arm. "She will get better in time, my boy, don't fret."

Then he gets around to why I'm really here. "The ladies in Capitol missed you this year," he says. "I explained your absence, of course, and they were completely understanding, but they do hope that you'll be... available next year."

"Of course I will," I sigh, but if Snow hears the bitterness and despair in my voice, he doesn't comment.

Snow gets a devious look on his face. "The way you struggled so very hard to save Miss Cresta... I don't suppose you have feelings for her?"

"She's a friend, nothing more," I say instantly. At first I have no idea why I denied our relationship so vehemently, but my conscious mind gradually catches up with my subconscious instincts. I'm in the rebellion, and one day Snow is going to make good on his threat to kill my family. If he ever finds out how I feel for Annie, then Snow will use her against me. Which means that I have to keep my love for her a secret.

Of all the things I've had to endure, this is the hardest by far, but what choice do I have? "I'm going to check on her," I tell Snow. "Thanks for your help."

Snow gives me an evil smile. "I'm so glad we can put this unpleasant business behind us."

I nod and turn to leave. As I walk away, my mind is filled with bloody visions of dancing with Annie on top of Snow's freshly dug grave.

**IMPORTANT A/N: As of this Thursday, I will be moving to South Korea for a year to teach English! This means that I will not have internet access for at least a week, possibly more, therefore this fic will regrettably have to be put on hiatus for a few weeks while I pack, fly, unpack, and get acclimatized. Thank you everyone for your continued support, and I hope you will stick around for the final two parts when they come out!**

**- Grand Admiral Chelli**


	40. Part 4: Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

Part Four: Waiting on the World to Change

**Chapter One**

I raise my fist and knock politely on the door of Annie Cresta's victor mansion. After a few seconds, her uncle, a stern-faced man in his fifties, opens the door and nods his head when he recognizes me. "Finnick," he says gruffly. "Annie's on the phone."

This is hardly surprising. Since Annie returned from the Hunger Games three months ago, she's spent most of her time on the phone. It turns out that when you go crazy in the Games, Capitol provides a psychiatrist to help the victor get over whatever psychoses they happened to pick up in the process of slaughtering – or watching people be slaughtered by – children. Every day, Annie's psychiatrist calls and spends an hour trying to reverse the damage done by the Games. So far, it hasn't helped one bit.

"Any improvement?" I ask her uncle.

The russet-bearded man gives a loud sigh and heads for the kitchen. I follow, and soon I have a glass of hard liquor in my hand that I clink against his. Having only met Annie's uncle in passing before they moved in across the street, I can't tell if his drinking habit developed before or after his niece was entered in the Hunger Games.

"She still wakes up in the middle of the night screaming," her uncle says, knocking back half the glass in one go. He seems to be following Haymitch's example – I suppose being drunk makes it easier to deal with his niece's mental breakdown. "She can't focus on anything, loud noises make her cry, sometimes she just shuts down and starts shaking..."

I put my hand on his shoulder. He tenses, and then lets out a deep breath. "I can't thank you enough for coming around to see her, even after she..."

"Went crazy?" I supply dryly. "You forget that I was in the Games, too. If anyone in Panem understands what she's going through, it's me."

Her uncle sighs again. "I suppose so." He takes another swig.

We sit in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, until it gets to be too much for me. "I'm going to go see Annie," I inform him, placing the glass – still half full of liquor – onto the counter. As I leave the kitchen, I see him reach for the glass out of the corner of my eye. Fantastic, I think. Because alcoholism will really help your niece recover.

I take the steps two at a time and am soon standing at Annie's door. Inside, I can hear her soft voice saying something – undoubtedly speaking with her psychiatrist. Not bothering to knock, I slip inside and shut the door behind me. Even if Annie notices that I entered, she won't care that I did – I seem to be the only person she can be around without lapsing into a catatonic state.

When the phone calls first started, I insisted on being allowed to listen in on the conversation. This is not because I have some deep-seated desire to control every aspect of Annie's life, but because I don't trust the Capitol. For all I know, they could be planning to use these daily calls to brainwash Annie. Call me paranoid, but I have good reason to suspect anything and everything tied to Capitol and President Snow.

After the first few weeks, I gradually relaxed my suspicions. Annie's psychiatrist seemed to be making genuine efforts to help Annie recover. I still check in every few days to make sure there's no foul play, but for now Annie's rehabilitation seems to be on the Capitol's agenda.

As I sit on Annie's bed and watch her stand silently at the window, clutching the phone tightly in her fingers, I lie back and listen as she speaks. "It's not that," she says tremulously. Annie waits a second, obviously listening to her psychiatrist say something, and then she replies, "I know it's not my fault."

The psychiatrist says something else, and it must have been the wrong thing, because Annie suddenly starts screaming. I'm instantly at her side, curling my arms around her as she sinks down to the floor crying. Once she's safely leaning against me, trembling madly, I pry the phone from her hand and slam it against my ear. "What did you say to her?" I hiss.

"Finnick?" the psychiatrist says. "I told her that nothing that happened was her fault. She seems to think that she caused the flood that wiped out the other tributes. I don't know where she could have gotten such an idea. Will you talk to her?"

"Yes," I say shortly, and hang up.

I turn my attention to Annie, who is now sobbing her heart out into my shirt. "Annie," I coo, stroking her long, unbound hair. "It's alright. I'm here. Everything's alright. I love you."

As always, she calms down and stops shaking. Sometimes it takes only a few minutes, sometimes several hours, but in the end I can always bring her back – more or less. Annie looks up at me with this terrified look in her eyes, and I instantly know what she's going to say next, because she asks me every day, and I always give her the same answer. "You love me?"

"I love you," I confirm, kissing her forehead. "Annie Cresta, you are the love of my life, the only woman I have ever and will ever want. I will always be here to love you, and care for you, and help you, no matter what."

This brings tears to her eyes, as my words always do, but these are happy tears – the only kind that don't make me feel like a knife has been stabbed through my chest. I can't stand seeing her in pain, and it kills me that she spends most of her time trapped in her own mind, reliving the Games over and over, envisioning horrible murders that never happened.

Her lips seek mine, and I kiss her tenderly. What I wouldn't give to throw her onto the bed and make love to her like I did that night before she went into the arena, show her physically how much I care for her. But she's fragile now, and I have to restrict myself to the most chaste of kisses because that's all she can handle.

The only people who know about my romantic relationship with Annie are Natare, father, Johanna, Haymitch, and Mags. Of these, it is only Mags that knows the extent of our relationship, because about a week after Annie and I returned from the Games, I staggered into Mags' house at three in the morning, drunk out of my mind, and spent an hour crying my sorrows into her flower-print dress.

What she asked me next shocked me to the core. "Finnick, how much do you love Annie?"

"Why are you asking me that?" I responded slowly.

Mags pinned me with the most serious expression I have ever seen her give. "Because Annie isn't going to recover. Don't interrupt me, young man. She will get better, but she will never fully recover. Once your mind breaks, it can never be put back together quite the way it was before. So what I'm asking you, Finnick Odair, is if you are willing to stand by Annie, no matter how poor her condition gets, no matter if she retreats into a coma and spends the rest of her life comatose in a bed. Because I have seen people walk out on their loved ones, unable to deal with the stress of caring for them, and if you think that there is even the slightest possibility that you might do such a thing, then you must remove yourself from Annie Cresta's life immediately."

"I love her," I told her, voice slurring only slightly from the liquor. "I will do anything for her."

Mags' eyes got watery as she smoothed down my hair and kissed my head. "You're a good boy, Finnick Odair."

Annie's voice brings me out of my trip down memory lane. "The flood," she whispers. "Real, or not real?"

It's a game we started to play a few weeks ago. Her breakdown has screwed with her memories of the arena, and I figured out after many hours of questioning that she has trouble recognizing what is real and what is not. At first I would have to sit her down and convince her that certain memories – like her killing someone – didn't happen, but now we've progressed to the stage where, when she gets upset by a memory, she'll ask me about it instead of spending hours being tormented by it until I get her to tell me what's wrong.

"Real," I tell her. "But you didn't cause it. Not in the way you think."

"No," she sobs, "but that didn't stop me from drowning the others!"

I cradle her head against my shoulder, stroking her back soothingly. "Not real, Annie, sweetheart. Not real. You didn't drown anyone. You just floated along until the others... you didn't touch them. You did nothing wrong."

"How would you know?" she snaps, suddenly furious. "You weren't there! How could you know?"

"I was your mentor, remember?" I say patiently. "I was watching over you the entire time."

"You weren't my mentor!" Annie shrieks, and before I know what's happening, she's leapt to her feet and shouting down at me. "Mags was my mentor! She worked so hard to keep me alive in there, and now you waltz in like you own the place and take all the credit!"

At first, when she flew into rages like this, I would freeze, clueless about how to respond. But now I've found that the best method is to be as non-threatening as possible, and keep playing the Real or Not Real game, even if she isn't playing anymore. "Not real, Annie," I say calmly, not moving from my position on the floor. "Not real. I was your mentor. Take a deep breath, angel. Think. What did you tell me, the night before you went into the arena?"

Annie's chest is heaving wildly, but after about three minutes of me sitting absolutely still, staring her down, she finally sucks in a deep breath and the crazy look leaves her eyes. "You... I told you that... I loved you?"

"Real," I confirm, getting carefully to my feet. When she doesn't flinch away, I carefully embrace her. "You told me that you loved me, and I told you that I loved you. Only a mentor would be allowed near you that close to the start of the Games, Annie. What does that tell you?"

She stares up into my sea-green eyes for a long moment, and then smiles shyly. "You were my mentor?"

"Real," I agree, kissing her on the nose. Annie giggles, and the sound lightens my soul, because it's another confirmation that the girl I love is still in there somewhere. And right now, that's enough for me.


	41. Part 4: Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Two**

I rarely see Blake or Mara anymore. This is not through a lack of trying on either of our parts, but a simple consequence of Annie's mental breakdown. Because I spend the majority of my time at Annie's side, and she has a tendency to collapse in hysterical fits when there are more than two people in the room, Blake and Mara visit only occasionally.

It's easier for Natare because she lives across the street from Annie. I phone her when Annie is in a relatively calm mood, and Natare pops over for a quick visit. Blake and Mara live down in the village, so such trips are a bit more difficult – not to mention that they don't have phones. Still, I manage to make time for my other friends. When Annie falls asleep at night, I go down to Blake's for a beer, or to Mara's to hear about her latest boyfriend.

None of this would be a problem, except that Annie knows. In her more lucid moments, she'll look at me and say firmly, "You should spend more time with Blake and Mara," because she knows that I miss their company. But she's my priority, so I assure her that I'm perfectly alright, and that she shouldn't worry about me. I doubt she actually believes me, but her mind generally wanders off before she can dwell too long on the subject.

About eight months after the 70th Hunger Games, Mara bounces into my room at home, where I'm lying on my bed tying and untying knots in a short length of rope. It keeps my mind busy, off of Annie, who isn't exactly getting worse, but certainly isn't getting much better. "Graduation day!" she exclaims, throwing herself onto the bed beside me.

This brings a smile to my face. "No kidding? It seems like only yesterday that you were a cute little girl. They grow up so fast."

Mara laughs and punches my arm. "I'm still cute, Odair, just not so little anymore. Are you coming?"

"To what?"

"The ceremony!" she pouts. "I'm only going to graduate once, you know. Then it's off to the salt mines."

I roll my eyes. "District 4 doesn't have salt mines."

"You know what I mean," Mara grins, sticking her tongue out at me.

I consider the proposition for a minute. "Who else is going?"

"Everyone!" she shouts, throwing her arms up in the air. Then she pauses awkwardly. "Well, except Annie, I mean..."

Annie, who should also have been graduating today. But her aunt and uncle decided that putting her in a crowd that large was basically asking for another breakdown. I had been planning on dropping by to see Annie that afternoon, but the chance to see all my friends is tempting. Not to mention that Mara will be furious with me if I miss such an important event.

"Alright," I agree. Mara squeals happily and hugs me. Then she scurries over to my closet and begins rifling through the various hanging articles of clothing. She extracts a blue shirt and gray pants and throws them at me.

"Put those on, and meet me downstairs in five minutes," she directs.

"Why the rush?"

"It starts in half an hour!" Mara exclaims.

"Then why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Because I have poor planning skills."

I laugh as she winks at me, and then hurries out of the room. Alone now, I pull on the more formal attire and head downstairs. Natare and father are waiting with Mara in the front foyer, and Natare gives a whistle when I appear. "You're my sister, you aren't allowed to check me out," I remind Natare.

"You're gorgeous," she says. "Deal with it."

"I wish, just for once, that you would call me handsome instead of gorgeous, or pretty," I lament, ruffling her hair. Natare shrieks and bolts past Mara, who is in the process of herding father out of the house.

The graduation ceremony is small but festive. Our village boasts maybe a thousand people in total, so the graduating class is about twenty kids, but the teachers go all out and festoon the small courtyard behind the schoolhouse with blue ribbons and paper lanterns. Because the graduates are so few in number, each is called up one at a time and given a personal send off by each of their teachers.

Blake ends up the valedictorian, which doesn't surprise me at all. He's a kind, funny guy, and it makes sense that his classmates would elect him as their representative. As he gives his speech, I sit in my chair and wonder if, had I stayed in school after my Games, I would have been the valedictorian. That life seems so far away that I have trouble remembering. I know I was popular, friends with everyone.

"What do you think?" I whisper in Natare's ear, who's sitting next to me. "Could I have been valedictorian?"

"Of course," she murmurs. I bump her affectionately with my shoulder, and she smiles at me.

After the ceremony, everyone retires to the back of the courtyard, where refreshment tables have been set up. A couple of sailors have taken the day off, and are now sitting in the corner with fiddles. They strike up a lively tune, and we all fall to casual conversation and snacking.

I spot Blake talking to one of his teachers, so I go over and clap him on the back. "Congratulations," I grin. "All those cheat sheets finally paid off."

"He's kidding," Blake assures his teacher, who shakes his head with a smile and goes off to talk to another student – or, rather, graduate. "You're in a good mood," Blake observes, eyeing me.

"My friends are graduating," I protest. "I'm not allowed to be happy?"

Blake laughs and punches my arm. "Damn straight you are. Did you like my speech?"

"Put me straight to sleep," I joke. Then I notice that he seems... nervous. "Something wrong?"

Blake coughs, looking uncomfortable. "I may have been keeping something from you."

"So spill."

"I've been seeing Mara."

I glance over at Mara, who's surrounded by a group of girls and laughing about something. "So have I. She's right there." I'm pretty sure that that isn't what Blake is trying to tell me, but I want to hear him say it before I jump to any conclusions.

"We've been dating since the Games," he says abruptly. "We were watching the Games with Natare, and she left the room to get something, and Mara started crying about Annie, and... well, we kissed, and we've been dating ever since."

I think of all my visits with Mara, and all the guys she's been telling me about. The girl is apparently a very good liar, because I never suspected a thing. "That's a long time to keep a secret," I note. I'm not mad at him for not telling me – or at Mara, for that matter. I was busy with Annie. But I'm intrigued to know why he thought it had to be a secret.

He shifts awkwardly. "Well, you were so busy taking care of Annie, and you were so worried about her... we just didn't want to tell you unless we were sure that our relationship was serious. You know how Mara is with guys."

This provokes a laugh. "I certainly do." I peer at him suspiciously. "And you wouldn't be telling me about it now unless you're sure it's serious. How serious?"

Blake pulls something out his pocket. It's an engagement ring. "Pretty serious," he admits. "I had to tell you before I asked her."

"I appreciate it," I tell him, and then I give him an encouraging smile. "She'll say yes." Even though I have no way of knowing this, it apparently reassures Blake. He gives a relieved sigh and puts the ring back in his pocket. "When are you asking her?"

"Tonight," he says, and his eyes light up in anticipation.

"I would congratulate you, but I think I'll wait until Mara says yes before I do that," I grin. "Wouldn't want to jinx it."

Blake is no longer paying attention to me, and it's not hard to figure out why, now that I know about his secret affair with Mara. She's started to dance with Natare, braided hair swinging gaily in the afternoon sunshine, and Blake watches her, transfixed. If I had any doubts on whether he loved her, they are quashed in that instant.

"Go dance with her," I instruct. "I'll distract Natare." Blake barely has time to thank me before he's rushing off through the crowd to Mara's side. True to my word, I follow him, and call out Natare's name. She excuses herself from Mara and starts towards me. As she turns away, Blake slips up and takes her place with Mara.

"What is it?" Natare asks curiously as she reaches my side.

"Did you know?" I say.

Her expression immediately gets shifty, and I know that she most certainly did. "Know what?"

"That Mara and Blake have been secretly dating for the last eight months?" I suggest dryly.

Natare winces. "Oh. That."

"Blake's going to ask her to marry him tonight," I add. Natare's mouth drops open.

"No way!" she squeals.

"Yes way," I laugh. "Think she'll say yes? Because I told Blake that she would, and I'd feel pretty stupid if I turned out to be wrong."

"Absolutely," Natare says. "Mara's obsessed with him. She only complains about him two or three times a day, if you can believe it."

"Which, for Mara, is practically a miracle."

"Yeah," she laughs.


	42. Part 4: Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Three**

Later that evening, I've convinced Annie to leave her house and come over to mine. She prefers the safety of her own home, but she's willing to leave it as long as I stay by her side at all times. We sit in the living room, crunching on sugar cubes while I ramble on about nothing in particular – Annie was never much of a talker, and certainly isn't now.

There's a bang from the front hallway, and suddenly Blake and Mara crash into the living room, grinning from ear to ear. "Finnick!" Mara shrieks, holding up her hand. A ring glitters on her finger. "Blake asked me to marry him!"

"And she said yes," Blake adds with a laugh.

"That's fantastic!" I enthuse, striding over to Mara and giving her a huge hug that lifts her off her feet.

"Put me down!" she protests, giggling.

Natare races into the room. "What happened? Did he ask you? Did you say yes?"

"Yes, and yes," Mara says, flashing the engagement ring at her friend. Natare yelps happily and hugs her.

I was so caught up in the celebration that I completely forgot about Annie. Looking around, I see that she's still in her chair, looking confused, but not dangerously so. "Annie," I say gently, going over and clasping her hands in mine. I pull her up and lead her carefully over to our friends. "Blake asked Mara to marry him. She said yes."

I have no idea how Annie will react. For all I know, she's acting so calm around this many people because she's trapped in her mind again. She takes in the ring, and Blake and Mara's beaming faces, and then forces a tremulous smile to her face. "Congratulations," Annie whispers.

This makes Blake, Mara, and Natare even happier, if such a thing is possible. Only I know Annie well enough to see that she's on the verge of tears. "I'm really happy for you guys," I tell Blake and Mara, then begin to pull Annie toward the door. "Annie's getting tired – I'm going to take her home, and then I'll be right back, alright? Don't start the party without me." I say this all in a light tone, but everyone instantly sobers.

"Sure thing," Mara says, smiling softly at Annie. "We love you Annie, you know that, right?"

Annie nods. I quickly get her out of the house, and just in time, because as soon as the door closes behind us she starts sobbing. Not wanting any of our neighbors to see Annie when she's this distressed, I wrap my arms around her and start to usher her back to her own house. But she's weeping copiously, and Mags' house is closer, so we end up on Mags' doorstep.

"Finnick? Annie?" Mags blinks when she answers the door. "Are you alright, dear?"

"Could I borrow your house?" I ask my old mentor.

Mags may be an old lady, but she's as sharp as Natare. "Of course. You can borrow my son's old bedroom. Come along, dear, no need to cry..." Mags takes Annie from me and leads her into the house, murmuring comforting words that are miraculously drying Annie's tears. Mags glances over her shoulder at me. "I'd like to talk to her, if that's alright."

"Be my guest," I invite, stepping over the threshold and closing the door behind me. "I'll just… make some tea."

I've got the tea steeped and into three mugs when Mags walks into the kitchen. Annie is noticeably absent. "I left her in the bedroom," Mags tells me. "We need to talk."

Curious, I hand her a mug and go to sit with her on the couch. After I take the bowl of sugar cubes that she offers, Mags clasps her wrinkled hands over mine. "Finnick, Annie loves you."

I can't help but laugh at that. "I'm aware."

Mags swats my chest with her hand. "No. I mean, she love loves you."

"I don't understand," I admit.

"That girl sees nothing in her future but you," Mags elaborates.

"We've been over this," I say, a bit angrily. "I'm not going to abandon her."

"Of course you aren't," Mags agrees. "But you can't be with her the way you both want."

"What do you mean?" I honestly have no idea where she's going with this.

Mags takes an impatient breath. "President Snow leaves you be because you two have an understanding – in return for his apathy, you sleep with whoever he tells you to."

"I..." I trail off, because I don't know why she's reiterating what we've both known for years.

Mags shakes her head. "I'll spell it out for you, shall I? Annie loves you. She would love nothing more than to marry you."

I had never actually thought about marriage, but now that Mags has mentioned it... "Is that why Annie was crying? She thinks I don't want to marry her? Because I do. I'll ask her right now."

Mags plants a hand on my chest, preventing me from rising to my feet as I had been in the process of doing. "No, you won't. Think about it, boy. If you marry Annie, the Capitol will find out. And once it gets out that you're a married man, Snow won't be able to pimp you out anymore."

I arch my eyebrow. "Somehow I doubt a little thing like marital fidelity will stop the upstanding people of Capitol."

"Of course not," Mags agrees. "But it will cause problems. Snow will have to be more discreet. Some of your lovers won't want anything to do with you, especially the more impressionable, younger ones. That means he's going to lose some valuable allies. And how do you think Snow will react to that?"

A feeling of dread sinks through me. "I can't marry Annie."

"No," Mags agrees seriously. "No, you can't. Not as long as Snow controls Panem. In fact, it would probably be better if no one besides the people you've already told know about your... feelings for Annie."

The thought that I will have to keep yet another secret from the world should be depressing, but honestly, it will just be one more secret to add to my ever-growing pile. I'm more worried about Annie. "Did you tell her all this?"

Mags looks offended. "Of course not. How cruel do you think I am?"

"I'm sorry," I say instantly. "I'm just a little... rattled."

Mags offers me a gummy smile. "I know you are."

A horrible thought suddenly occurs to me. "Annie is beautiful. You don't suppose Snow will make her do... what I have to do?" I'm referring to Snow pimping me out, but I can't bring myself to say it aloud.

"I doubt it," Mags says. "The people of Capitol don't have much tolerance for the insane. Which is something, considering how round the twist most of them are."

"Thank god for that," I sigh. One less thing to worry about. "I'm not going to tell her about my arrangement with Snow." Annie is already blaming herself for things that weren't her fault – the last thing I need to do is tell her that I've been prostituting myself for the past five years to stop her and my family from being harmed. Not that it did much good, in her case.

"Probably a good idea," Mags agrees.

I make my way to the room that Annie is waiting in – it's not exactly hard to follow the sobs. Pushing past the door, I hurry over to Annie and draw her into my arms. "Tell me what's wrong," I urge.

"Blake and Mara," she sniffs.

"Annie," I tell her firmly. "I love you. I would marry you in an instant, if you wanted me to."

"Really?" Her eyes are so full of hope that it almost breaks my heart.

"But I..." This is so hard. I have no idea how to say this so that she'll understand. Or, rather, understand without having another mental breakdown. "Annie, I would love nothing more than to be your husband. But Snow... you know how evil he is. What if he decided to use you against me? I couldn't live with that, with you being hurt because of me. Do you understand?"

Annie just stares at me.

I consider explaining about the rebellion, how Snow could conceivably capture her and torture her if he ever found out that I was a part of it. But I can't trust her mental state – what if she told someone? She might not even realize she was doing so. So I try to be as vague yet convincing as possible. "I think you must have realized by now that Snow isn't exactly a benevolent dictator. We victors... we have a certain amount of power in Capitol. If I were to do something that Snow didn't like... or, if I were to refuse to do something that Snow asked me to, he would look for someone I care about to punish. And if I were to marry you, who do you think he'd choose?"

"Me," Annie realizes, and I can see that understanding is fighting through the layers of sorrow and madness.

"You," I agree, kissing her head tenderly. "Annie, sweetheart, you are the only woman I will ever love. But as long as things remain the way they are, I can't marry you. It's too dangerous."

She starts crying again. I hold her close and rock her. But I think that she understands me. Annie is a smart girl, even now that her mind is fractured.

"Your lovers in the Capitol," Annie whispers. "Real or not real?"

"Real," I admit.

"I don't understand," she says.

"They may be my lovers, but I don't love them," I say helplessly. "It's a... victor thing. I can't explain it any better than that."

"You love me," Annie confirms.

"Real," I say, kissing her lips softly. "Always and forever."

She thinks about this for a long moment, and then kisses me back, and I know that she understands.


	43. Part 4: Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Four**

Immediately after Blake proposes to Mara, everyone gets swept up in wedding fever. Natare starts to plan out an elaborate reception dinner, which will take place at our house. After a great deal of coaxing, I manage to get Annie to sit with my sister and help her plan. It's only for an hour, but Natare is so sweet that even Annie can't feel threatened by her.

Plans are made for a spring wedding, but tragedy strikes first. It's a few weeks after the 71st Hunger Games, and the weather has been getting gradually worse for the last couple of days. When father goes out that morning to fish, Natare and I urge him to be careful, because there's been talk of a hurricane, but based on recent weather we figure it will take at least another two days for the bad weather to reach us.

I am sitting with Annie in my backyard, cloud-gazing as she winds together a flower chain, when the sky suddenly goes dark. Concerned, I usher Annie inside the house and turn on our television. The weather reports are worse than I could have possibly imagined. Seemingly out of nowhere, a hurricane has risen out of the sea and is ravaging the coastline. It will hit our village in about half an hour, and may have already gotten to father.

"Stay here," I tell Annie sharply. "It's safe here." The last thing I need is for her to go wandering around outside when a hurricane is about to hit. When I say hurricane, I mean torrential winds that can rip the roof right off your house, and downpours that flood the streets and can uproot houses and sweep them into the sea.

As soon as I've secured a promise from her to stay put, I race out the front door, shutting it firmly behind me. I know that Mara and Natare are at Blake's house, talking to his mother about the wedding, and I have to get to them quickly. I'm no architect, but I'm fairly certain that a Capitol-made building will stand up better in a storm than a flimsy wooden cottage.

The sky has gone completely black by the time I reach Blake's house, and the rain has completely drenched me. I pound on the door, and Blake opens it after a few seconds. "What are you doing outside?" Blake shouts over the wind, pulling me inside.

"Weather reports say we have ten minutes before the storm hits," I tell him, running an anxious hand through my bronze hair, which is plastered against my head from the rain. "It's definitely a hurricane. My house is safer."

Blake nods and goes to round up his family. As he does this, Natare hurries over to me, a stricken expression on her face. "Finnick, father is..."

"I know," I say, hugging her close. Father is out on the sea in the middle of a hurricane. The odds of him surviving are minute, and there's no point pretending otherwise. Then I remember that Annie's parents died in the last hurricane, and that I just left her in my house, alone. "We have to get back to our house right now. Annie's there alone."

Natare's eyes widen, understanding instantly. "Let's go, people!" she shouts, grabbing Blake's youngest brother in her arms and dashing out the door. With Mara and Blake's help, we round up his family – I think they're at seven kids now – and herd them through the downpour up to Victor's Village. I slam the door behind Blake's mother just as an ominous crack of thunder sounds overhead.

"Help them dry out," I instruct Natare.

"Gosh, thanks for telling me that," Natare retorts. "I would never have thought of that on my own."

"Just do it," I snap, too worried about father and Annie to bother tempering my tone. But Natare doesn't get mad at me, because she knows exactly where I'm coming from. As she takes command of the situation, I hurry upstairs.

Annie is in my room, curled up on my bed and trembling madly. I quickly climb up beside her and drape a blanket around her shoulders. "It's alright," I say soothingly. "Just a storm."

"My parents died in a storm," Annie whispers. "Real or not real?"

"Real," I tell her reluctantly.

She gives a heaving sob and buries her face in my shirt.

The reports begin to drift in the next day – twenty-three fishermen dead, and another seventeen unaccounted for. Father's name is among the list of deceased. They found his boat shipwrecked up the coast. Natare is inconsolable, and Mara spends most of the morning hovering helplessly over my sister as she sobs her heart out.

Father's death doesn't strike me as harshly as it does Natare, perhaps because our relationship was never as close as theirs. We had our arguments – I broke his arm, after all – but I still loved and respected the man, and his death is as painful as mother's was. I would like nothing more than to sit with Natare on the couch, mourning father's death, but I have my own problems.

Annie's uncle was also fishing when the hurricane hit. When I see his name in the reports, I consider hiding it from her, but I realize that lies are not going to help her recover. "Annie," I tell her carefully. "Your uncle... was at sea when the hurricane came. He's dead. I'm so sorry."

This triggers a fit of rage, followed by a few hours of silent catatonia. By the time I've returned from Annie's house, leaving her in the grieving care of her aunt, Natare's tears have run dry. "How is she?" I ask Mara as I slip inside our front foyer.

"She'll live," Mara says. "How are you?"

I force a smile. "I've been better."

She shakes her head wearily. "You don't have to put on a brave face for me, Finnick."

"Worry about Blake instead," I tell her. "I heard his father is one of the men still missing. He'll need your support right now." Mara nods and hurries out the door.

The mass funeral is held a few days later, once the final numbers have been tallied. Seven of the missing fishermen turn up alive – a miracle in itself – which leaves the final death toll at thirty-three. The entire village turns out for the funeral, and even my fellow victors stop by to pay their respects. I stand silently at the forefront of the audience, Natare clutching my right hand and Annie clutching my left. I barely notice what the various speakers are saying until one stands out. A curly-haired man with lime green lips marches into the square, a squad of peacekeepers at his back. I don't know him, but he is definitely from the Capitol.

"Greetings, good people of District 4," he says, simpering voice sounding incredibly insincere when mixed with his affected Capitol accent. "President Snow and the people of Capitol send their deepest sympathies to you and your families during this troubled time. Know that our thoughts and prayers are with you." He gives a deep bow, as if he's just done us some incredible honor, and departs with the Peacekeepers he brought along. Maybe they've realized that they aren't welcome here.

Without quite understanding what I'm doing, I suddenly release Annie and Natare's hands and bound up to the stage. There is a murmur of confusion from the crowd – I'm not on the list of approved speakers – but no one stops me. My father is one of the dead, and that gives me the right to speak.

"All of you know me," I say, "because my face is splashed all over the television screens each year, and you get a kick out of the rumors of my sordid affairs in Capitol. But all of you also know my father – not because he had the good fortune of nearly getting himself killed in the Hunger Games, but because he was a good man. A kind man – harsh sometimes, yes, but always uncompromising in his morality. His greatest love in life was his family, but a close second was fishing. Even after I received my lifelong pension, father still went out every morning in his boat, rain or shine, doing what he loved.

"Why am I telling you this? Because I want to remind you all of something that I think you might have forgotten." A horribly rebellious feeling is suddenly coursing through me, and I have no idea where it came from. Nor do I have any idea how to rein it in. "Most of us spend our entire lives out on the sea, breaking our backs hauling in the day's catch. How many of you know where all that food goes?"

"Not onto our dinner tables!" one man shouts gruffly.

"It goes to Capitol," I agree. "Every time we have a hurricane and our friends and family die, the people in Capitol lament that the shellfish shipment will be a few days late. Do you understand that? Our lives to them literally translate into what sort of food they'll be eating that night. Tsunami wipes out the deep-sea fishing villages? All they care about is that they'll have to gorge themselves on steak that week instead of tuna.

"Capitol knew about this storm," I tell them, and I drop my voice low so that everyone leans forward to hear me better. I keep a constant scan on my surroundings for any peacekeepers, because they'd arrest me if they knew what I was telling these people. "I can't prove that, of course, but they have technology we can only dream of. Of course they would know that there was a hurricane headed our way. Where was the warning? And now thirty-three people are dead – thirty-three families in mourning. Where is the relief? Where are the food packages, to help the families who have no other source of income now that their breadwinner is gone? Where is the money, to pay for the funerals?"

I take a deep breath. Every single person in the audience is listening to me with rapt attention. Such rebellious words haven't been heard here in decades – and won't be again, if the peacekeepers catch wind of what I'm doing. "I'm not saying that we should rise up against the Capitol like District 13 did all those years ago. President Snow is too strong, and we would only doom ourselves. But if anyone here today thinks there's some truth to my words, keep them close to your heart. Tell your friends, secretly. Spread these ideas. And that way, one day, when the spark of rebellion erupts into flame, we will be ready."

If the peacekeepers overheard me, they would have arrested me by now. Still, I don't want to stick around, especially since I know at least a few people will be furious with me for tainting a funeral with wishful talk of rebellion. I hop off the stage and walk to Annie and Natare, grab their hands, and drag them away from the square.

As soon as we are a decent distance away, I slow my pace. Annie is in one of her lucid moments, because she squeezes my hand softly and says, "I liked what you said."

"I just... couldn't keep my mouth shut," I admit.

"Probably not the best place for a revolutionary diatribe," Natare opines.

"I didn't mean to upset anyone," I say. "But after hearing that Capitol man blather on like he was making our lives worthwhile by simply being in his presence..."

"What if someone overheard?" Annie worries.

"I doubt it," Natare says, firmly enough that I allow myself to believe her. "It was just a local funeral, after all – not exactly a place you'd expect a rebellion to start."

"I didn't start a rebellion," I note. "In fact, I specifically told them not to do anything stupid."

"Nevertheless, word will spread," Natare says. "No one will say that it was you that started it, but I wouldn't be surprised if the entire district has heard your speech, word for word, inside a month." She pauses, and then gives me a small smile. "I know your words weren't exactly an eulogy to father, Finnick, but I think you said exactly what he would have wanted you to say."

"Thank you, Natare," I tell her solemnly.

Natare glances at Annie, who's staring blankly off into space. "How is she doing?"

"She'll be alright," I say, trying to make my voice sound certain, although really I'm just running on blind hope. "We all will."

Natare suddenly gives a shout of frustration. "When will this all end? I can't stand watching everyone I love die around me!"

I shouldn't say it, but I do anyway. "It will end when I separate President Snow's head from his body."

Natare shudders. "Is that your plan? Political assassination?"

I laugh despite myself. "Give it a chance. I think it's a killer idea."


	44. Part 4: Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Five**

The years pass in a blur of gleaming Capitol dinner parties and glamorous lovers. When I'm at the Capitol during the annual Games, I have to force Annie out of my mind, because thinking about her while putting on my man-whore persona is too painful. But the instant I step off the train each year and go home to Annie, all thoughts of the Capitol fly from my head.

I get an unexpected present from President Snow that serves to ease my concern for Annie even more. He calls me personally right before Annie is supposed to leave on her victory tour and tells me that due to her mental condition, she will be awarded the privileges of a victor, but will not have to fulfill the obligations. This means that Annie can still live in her beautiful house and receive her pension, but that she will not have to go to the Capitol every year, nor go on the victory tour. I thank Snow profusely, and manage to keep the hatred more-or-less out of my voice.

Without the Games looming over her head, Annie gradually begins to get better. After the first year, Annie can walk around outside as long as there aren't large crowds of people around. After the second, she can go to the market and interact with the village folk for short periods of time. After the third, I can bring her out of one of her fits with only a few whispered words and a squeeze of her hand. By the time the 74th Hunger Games approach, Annie spends hours at a time with Mara and Natare. She doesn't join in the gossiping and laughter as they chat about whatever girls chat about, but Natare assures me that she smiles every so often, which tells me that she's enjoying herself.

The hurricane put a wrench in Blake and Mara's wedding plans, because Blake's father ended up being one of the victims alongside my own father. Blake didn't want to have a wedding so soon after his father's death, so they put off their wedding a whole year. It wasn't until the summer after the 72nd Hunger Games that they finally tied the knot.

That night, after an evening of dancing and merriment, I walk Annie back to her house and lead her up to her room. She prefers that I go ahead of her into rooms – even her own – because she's terrified that something is going to jump out at her. It's a groundless fear, but I can't exactly explain this to Annie.

I turn around as she undresses, keeping up a running commentary about how wonderful the wedding was because she finds my voice soothing. It is therefore a complete surprise when I feel her arms wrap around my waist, drawing my body back against her own. "Annie?" I say carefully, afraid that her psychoses have manifested themselves in some new and unsettling way.

Spinning in her arms, I slowly put my hands on her shoulders and look deep into her eyes. There is a rare clarity to them, and I know that for the moment, at least, she is more or less in control. "We may not be able to get married," Annie says softly, looking up at me pleadingly. "But why can't you make love to me?"

I am floored by her query. "I..." I trail off uncertainly. What am I supposed to tell her? Annie, you spend most of the time in your own little world. Any time I think about you in... that way, I have to hit myself, because you're too fragile for that sort of thing." Or, at least, I had always assumed that this was the case. Have I been wrong this whole time?

"I'm not saying we can do it all the time," Annie clarifies. "But when I'm... myself, can't we? If we keep it a secret?"

"You're sure you want this?" I press. I would love nothing more than to throw her onto the bed and ravish her until she's screaming my name, but what if the rush of emotion and feeling causes another breakdown?

"I do," she assures me. Then, to make her point, Annie reaches up on her tiptoes and kisses me with such passion that I'm almost knocked back a step.

"God, I missed this," I groan, and swing her up into my arms. Annie gives a delighted laugh as I carry her over to her bed and set her gently down. "Last chance, Annie."

"I want this," Annie says firmly.

I am unable to suppress a cocky grin. "Then what the lady wants, she shall receive."

My outlook on life improves greatly after that. It's not the sex part I missed, but rather the knowledge that even in her fragile mental state, Annie is still capable of loving me, and wanting me. Most of the time she's trapped in her memories, but now and then she'll turn to me with a seductive smile that she must have learned from me, and we let our passion for each other take over. It infuriates me that we have to keep it a secret, though, especially now that love fever has struck our village.

It seems like everyone is falling in love and getting married, just to spite me and Annie. First it was Mara and Blake, and about a year later Natare – my sweet, innocent little sister – tells me that things are getting serious with her new boyfriend, Kevin. He's the son of the town blacksmith, a muscular guy who actually might be able to take me in a fight. Not my first choice, but when Kevin comes to me and asks me for Natare's hand in marriage, of course I say yes. Who am I to deny her happiness?

Their wedding follows swiftly, and it's a joyous occasion with singing and dancing. I bring Annie along, and after a great deal of coaxing I convince her to dance with me. The fiddlers strike up a merry tune, and I whirl Annie around the dance floor, her long brown hair streaming out behind her as she laughs. It's been so long since I've seen her so uninhibited that I can't keep a huge grin off my face. Several girls in attendance at the wedding hit on me, but even that doesn't spoil my mood, because Annie is so incredibly happy, and that makes me happy in turn.

The weddings continue, and more people get married in the next few years than I thought actually lived in the village. I start to wonder if fish are crawling out of the sea and turning into humans, because honestly, the sheer number of weddings is staggering. Even old man Berkley gets married, and he's pushing eighty. I spend more and more time out on my boat – usually with Annie – to escape the wedding madness.

My thoughts aren't entirely devoted to Annie and the unexpected wedding conundrum, however. During the 73rd Hunger Games, in the midst of my usual kiss-and-tell activities, Haymitch approaches me quietly and says to me, "What do you know about District 13?" He pulls me out of the Victor's Spire and takes me to a secluded park, where no one should be able to eavesdrop on us.

I arch an eyebrow at him. "You mean our ill-fated sister district that tried to rebel seventy-three years ago, and paid the ultimate price? Never heard."

"Ha ha," Haymitch snorts, sinking down onto a nearby rocky outcropping. His ever-present liquor bottle – today containing what looks like rum – clinks against the stone as he sets it down beside him. The rock looks like a serviceable enough bench, so I sit next to him.

"Alright, I'll bite," I say, smiling. "Why are you asking me?"

"The rebellion is gaining speed," Haymitch tells me. "We've made contact with District 13 – no, it wasn't destroyed. They weren't just graphite miners, they were also in charge of nuclear development. Turns out that Capitol struck a deal with them – they'd leave 13 alone, as long as 13 didn't try to free the other districts."

I rub my chin in thought. "But not anymore."

"Not anymore," Haymitch agrees. "We sent an expedition a few months back to see if there was anything left of 13. They've got a whole, thriving society going underground, and they've agreed to help us when the time is right."

"When the time is right," I repeat, mulling this over in my head. "You mean when the districts start to get rebellious thoughts."

"We don't know how or when it will happen," Haymitch admits sourly. I tell him about my impromptu speech at my father's funeral. Haymitch looks intrigued. "That's a step in the right direction," he says. "But it wouldn't work wide-scale. To reach everyone, we'd need a nation-wide platform to broadcast our views."

"The Hunger Games," I suggest. "Everyone watches them – they have to by law."

Haymitch takes a swig from his bottle and belches loudly. "Except we can't hijack the Hunger Games. 13 has techies that know how to piggyback on the television feed, but there's no way we could steal broadcast time to send out a message."

"What if we... tried something a little more devious?" I say carefully. "If we could get one of the tributes to be a rebel..."

Haymitch grins. "Not a bad plan at all. But if any tribute tried something rebellious during the Games, I think the Gamemakers would just kill them off."

"Martyrdom," I say.

"Not if they cut off the live feed before the rebellious content leaks out," Haymitch counters.

We lapse into a pensive silence.

"We may just have to wait and see," I suggest after a long while. "We need a spark to light the fire of rebellion, and I don't know if we can engineer a spark. Maybe we just have to let one develop naturally."

Haymitch nods. "That's what I've been telling the... others."

I know who some of these "others" are, but the majority of them remain a mystery. "Still won't tell me who they are?"

"You're a public figure," Haymitch reminds me. "And you know too much already. God alone knows what secrets you have locked up in that pretty-boy head of yours."

I can't help but laugh at that. "Wouldn't you like to know."


	45. Part 4: Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Six**

The 74th Hunger Games start up, and I'm regrettably one of the mentors. I try to switch out with Mikael, but my irritating fellow victor makes some excuse about having other obligations, and I give up with a sigh. Coral is the other mentor, which brightens my mood considerably, because not only is she a fairly decent person, she also happens to be part of the rebellion.

I escort Annie to the victor's area in the main square where the Reaping is going to take place, and then head up on stage to join Coral and Pompey. My old director is now pudgy and pink-bearded, a hideous look for him in my opinion, although his omnipresent smile indicates that he thinks otherwise. Once everyone is assembled in the square, Pompey raises his hands to quiet them, and proceeds with the Reaping.

My tribute, Jarvis, is possibly the most average contestant I have ever seen. He's 5'7", brown haired, brown eyed, normal build, plain face... when I shake hands with him on the train, my immediate thought is that he should just try to blend into the background. I think he could pull it off – the guy is so nondescript that I sometimes forget he's in the room. Coral gets a fifteen-year-old blonde girl with an overly large mouth named Marcie. She seems nice enough, but completely lacks the killer instinct.

"Good crop this year," I murmur to Coral, who shoots me a look. "What? Okay, that was a bit insensitive, I admit. I'm right, though. Neither of them is getting far."

Coral laughs softly. I'm getting pretty jaded by the whole Hunger Games experience, but she's progressed to the stage where everything just amuses her. "Ah well. Want to leave them to their own devices and go... you know?"

Of course I know. She's been propositioning me for the last couple of years. Her original argument was, "Hey, Finnick, I was thinking. You're hot. I'm hot. Let's do it." When I turned her down, she just laughed and patted my head, as if I had told her a mildly amusing joke. After that we became friends, sort of, although she still likes to hit on me every now and then. I think it's her way of keeping me on my toes, although she also may just get a kick out of seeing my reaction each time.

"We could do that," I say seductively, running my hand down her spine. Coral shivers and jumps away from me, laughing. "Or we could sit with our tributes and watch the Reaping re-runs."

"Spoil sport," Coral sighs, heading over to the couches where our tributes are sitting with Pompey. The high-speed train clatters along the tracks, and it occurs to me that I've been on it so many times that I no longer even notice that we're moving anymore.

Pompey turns on the television mounted high on the cabin wall, and we watch the Reapings. "Pay attention," I tell Jarvis, because although I'm pretty sure he's doomed, I haven't give up on him quite yet. "You can tell a lot about a person from the way they react at the Reaping."

Districts 1 and 2 are all Careers, of course. The boy from 2 looks particularly vicious. 5 has a sly-looking girl who has a calculating look as she climbs up onto the stage – Jarvis notices it too, and I advise him to watch out for her. There's a crippled boy from 10 who brings winces to all our faces – crippled kids don't last long, no matter how skilled they are. They just have a natural disadvantage that will inevitably slow them down.

District 11 produces a huge, dark-skinned boy named Thresh who looks like he could uproot a tree without too much effort. His fellow tribute, a tiny twelve-year old angel, reminds me of Natare when she was that age. "They should raise the age limit," I mutter. "That's not right."

Coral glances over at me. "No," she agrees, anger lacing her tone. "It isn't."

I bite back a sigh when the female tribute from District 12 is called. It's another twelve-year old, a sweet little girl with blonde curls and blue eyes. I hear Coral groan beside me, but just as I'm about to comment, something completely unexpected happens. On screen, the girl is just starting up the steps to the stage when another girl – an older one, with dark hair and panicked eyes – rushes forward screaming "Prim!" and pushes the little girl behind her.

"A volunteer?" Coral says, looking completely bewildered. I don't blame her. District 12 hasn't had a volunteer in decades.

"I volunteer!" the older girl shouts. "I volunteer as tribute!" The little girl starts shrieking and wraps her arms around the older one.

"Sisters?" I wonder aloud.

"That would explain it," Coral agrees.

"How lovely," Pompey says over my shoulder. "Looks like 12 will have a real fighter this year."

I exchange an exasperated look with Coral. We both know that a volunteer doesn't necessarily mean a "real fighter" – it could just as easily mean that the older girl would rather die herself than have her sister thrust into the horrors of the arena. I know this from personal experience – I would have given anything to go into the arena again in Annie's place, if only such a thing were possible.

Then something even more unexpected happens. The girl, Katniss Everdeen, takes the stage as 12's new female tribute, and her director calls for a round of applause. But instead of applauding, the entire crowd of District 12 stays absolutely silent. This isn't just respect for a girl trying to save her sister, this is something more. Rebellion? Not quite. But a statement against the Capitol? Definitely.

Haymitch suddenly staggers forward onscreen, reeling drunk as usual, and shouts, "Look at her! Look at this one! I like her! Lots of... spunk! More than you! More than you!" He points directly at the camera for this last bit.

Why hasn't Capitol cut this part out from the replay? They must just think it the drunken ramblings of a known alcoholic. As if to prove this point, Haymitch promptly teeters off the side of the stage and knocks himself out. And there's no doubt that he's drunk. But Haymitch is a smart guy. He wouldn't say anything so risky unless there was a purpose to it. I think back to our conversation – how the Hunger Games would be the perfect platform to light the spark of rebellion. Does he think that this girl – Katniss Everdeen – might be that spark we've been waiting for?

I examine her closely as she stands in the background, watching as the director calls out the male tribute – some large, stocky blonde kid. Katniss' face is completely impassive, as if she doesn't give a damn what's happening around her. When she notices the camera swinging her way, a sneer of distaste graces her lips. Fascinating. She definitely has spunk, as Haymitch said. I guess the real question now is, how much?

Our train pulls in to Capitol Central, and after herding our tributes up to the fourth floor of the Training Center and putting them to bed, Coral and I race for the twelfth floor. Haymitch's train won't roll in until tomorrow, which means that the twelfth floor will be empty – and, therefore, the perfect place for us to talk.

Plutarch Heavensbee strolls into the common room a moment after us, and I have to remind myself that he's one of us. It's hard to reconcile in my mind a Gamemaker with a leader of the rebellion. But I guess he must have his own grievances with the Capitol. "I thought you might be here," Heavensbee says, smiling at some private joke.

"Katniss Everdeen," Coral says.

Heavensbee nods.

"Should we be meeting like this?" I ask.

Heavensbee laughs. "This is only a small fraction of our little rebellion. Besides, Snow is rather occupied at the moment with the Games. I'm assuming you're here for the same reason I am?"

"We need a figurehead for the rebellion," I say. "Is she it?"

"We can't rush into anything," he says. "Katniss is spirited, and deliciously rebellious, but if she doesn't survive then she's useless to us."

I can't suppress my groan. "More waiting?"

Heavensbee nods. "Talk to Haymitch when he arrives tomorrow. He's the girl's mentor, he'll have better insight into her character. If she really is the one we've been waiting for, he'll know."

"And then what?" Coral presses. "We rig events so she comes out alive?"

Heavensbee sighs. "Not possible, unfortunately. I may be able to influence Seneca Crane a little, but he makes all the decisions. And no, Finnick, I don't think bribing him will work this time around." I shut my mouth, as I had just been about to suggest that exact thing. "Annie was harmless. Katniss isn't. If we alter events, Snow will be watching this time around, and we could be exposed. We can't risk it."

"So we just have to sit around and hope that she survives?" I snap. "Great plan."

"If she really is the one we need, then she'll find a way to win the Games," Heavensbee says shortly.

What can I do but nod and trust his judgment?

Next evening is the Opening Ceremonies. Around lunch, I leave Jarvis in the dubiously skilled hands of Germanicus, who has returned from his sabbatical and is more infuriating than ever. I get my usual message from Snow – today, it is Miss Olivia Janus waiting for me at the theatre. Pulling on a tux, I hurry downstairs, hop into the waiting car, and zoom off for an afternoon tryst.

When I return, the sun has begun to set, and the tributes should be preparing to roll out in their chariots. I take the elevator down to the bottom floor, emerge into the cavernous stable, and look around for the District 4 chariot. It's not exactly hard to spot – festooned with coral, the horses fitted with absurd fins on their backs so that they look like strange horse-shark hybrids.

I wander over to Jarvis, who has a huge hat covered in spiky spines stuck on his head. "Sea anemone?" I observe. "Could be worse, kid, trust me."

"I know," Jarvis says. He's so monotone that I have no idea whether he's secretly terrified, or honestly doesn't give a damn about his current situation.

"I'm going to sit in the mentor's booth to watch the parade," I tell him. "Later."

"Bye," he says.

I join Haymitch in the stands – Johanna isn't mentoring this year. It's too bad, because I bet she would have loved to be a part of this. "So?" I ask as I slide in beside him. Then I notice something. Haymitch's liquor bottle is gone. "Where's your booze?" I demand suspiciously.

"My darling tributes convinced me to stop drinking," Haymitch growls.

"I saw Katniss' Reaping," I say nonchalantly.

Haymitch smirks. "She's something else, Odair, trust me."

"That's what we're counting on."

He shoots me a confused look when I say "we", and then mouths, "Heavensbee?" I nod. Satisfied, Haymitch turns back to City Circle, where the chariots have started to roll out, and says, "12 has a new stylist this year. Name's Cinna. I think you'll like him."

We watch in silence as the chariots go past. Jarvis, bless his heart, just stands there in his ridiculous getup looking so bored that the audience's eyes drift right past him without stopping. If he doesn't die in these Games, we should hire him to assassinate Snow. He could just walk straight into Snow's mansion, and the guards would never notice him.

Then the District 12 chariot emerges from the Training Center, and my voice joins the rest of the crowd in a surprised gasp. Katniss and her tribute mate – I think his name is Peeta – are wearing black unitards. But the real surprise is their cloaks and head-dresses – both have somehow been lit on fire, without burning their wearers. They stand out head and shoulders above the rest of the tributes.

"Cinna, eh?" I mutter to Haymitch. "Don't tell me. He's one of us."

Haymitch laughs. "That obvious?"

Katniss and Peeta pass by, holding hands in an unprecedented show of togetherness. "What's with the buddy-buddy hand-holding?" I ask, not sure how linking this girl on fire with her boring-by-comparison tribute mate is going to help her win.

Haymitch gives a mysterious smile. "You'll see."


	46. Part 4: Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Seven**

The three training days pass quickly. My mind is so occupied with Katniss Everdeen that I almost forget about Jarvis. When I take him down to the training level on the first day and ask him what he's good at, he shrugs and says, "Stuff."

"Stuff," I sigh. "Anything specific?"

It turns out that – big surprise – Jarvis is mediocre at just about everything. He can throw a spear reasonably accurately, and cover a decent distance. His knife skills are fine, he has a basic knowledge of knots and snares, he has some idea of what plants are edible. On the second day, I just tell him to try and make friends, and do whatever stations he wants. Jarvis shrugs and wanders off.

I sit with Haymitch in the mentor's observation box and try to figure out what his strategy is. He has Katniss and Peeta teamed up like they were at the Opening Ceremonies, going around to each station together, helping each other, eating together. They tie knots and practice camouflage – which the boy turns out to be surprisingly good at. And the little girl starts to follow them around, although I don't know if Katniss or Peeta notice.

"Her name is Rue," Haymitch says, and he sounds annoyed.

"What's wrong with her?"

"Katniss is a hard-hearted girl," Haymitch sighs, "but her weakness is her sister – the one she volunteered to be tribute for. And I'd bet you a year's supply of liquor that she's going to see her sister in that District 11 girl."

I contemplate this for a moment. "Think it will affect her behavior in the arena?"

Haymitch grunts noncommittally. "Hopefully the kid will die off in the initial bloodbath. Then we won't have to find out."

"You're all heart," I laugh, clapping Haymitch on the back. He scowls at me and tells me to pay better attention to my tribute.

The Gamemaker evaluation comes on day three, and when Jarvis mentions that he doesn't know what to do, I suggest that he just kind of sidle into the room, and see how far across the hall he can make it before the Gamemakers notice he's there. This actually provokes a laugh – I had no idea the kid was capable of amusement – and when he returns from the evaluation that evening and I ask him what he did, he says, "I almost made it."

I laugh and ruffle his hair. "Way to go, kid."

Training scores flash across the television that evening, and Jarvis gets a 4. "I wonder what would have happened if they didn't notice you at all?" I muse aloud. "Think they would have had to give you a 0?"

"Probably a 1," Coral opines. "The scoring starts at 1."

"Yeah, but a tribute's never failed to show up before. If they thought Jarvis never arrived, wouldn't they have to fail him? And wouldn't failure mean a 0?"

"Ssh," Coral's tribute hushes us. "The scores aren't over yet."

Chastened, Coral and I turn our attention back to the screen. There's a lot of 5s and 6s, a couple of 7s and 8s, and one or two 9 and 10s. Then Katniss' scowling face appears, and an 11 pops up beside her.

Coral and I exchange an impressed look. This girl is getting better and better. "Wonder what she did?" Coral says.

"I'm sure we'll find out," I say, because if it was as impressive as her score indicates, I'm sure that Haymitch will brag about it to me sooner or later.

"Katniss Everdeen," Coral muses. "The girl on fire. Good handle."

"Only if she lives up to it."

"I think she will."

I smile. "I think she will too."

Interview day dawns, and Jarvis and I sit together in the common room for our scheduled planning time. "Just be yourself," I advise. What else can I tell this kid? I don't think he's capable of being anything but himself. Jarvis shrugs, and wanders off again. I have no idea where he goes. Maybe up to the roof? I don't really care, so I push him out of my mind when an avox arrives with my affair of the day. It's actually someone I know quite well – Hortensia, the woman who told me about Snow's poisonous habits – and we spend a surprisingly enjoyable afternoon feeding ducks by one of Capitols' artificial lakes.

As evening falls, and I sit in the interview hall beside Haymitch, I find myself getting more and more excited. It's all because of Katniss – she's proven that she's a dangerous competitor, and now I'll get to see the other side of her. Her personality. I wonder if she's as stand-offish in person as she appears on the television.

When it's finally her turn, Katniss walks up to Caesar Flickerman and shakes his hand. "So, Katniss, the Capitol must be quite a change from District 12. What's impressed you most since you arrived here?" Caesar asks.

"The lamb stew," Katniss says. I laugh loudly at the absurd response, and my laugh prompts some of my fellow audience members to join in. Haymitch has a cautiously pleased look on his face.

Caesar rambles about stew for a minute, and then questions her about her opening ceremonies outfit. The one that has gotten many of us to start calling her the girl on fire. At one point Katniss starts twirling, and her interview dress flares out, giving the impression that she's erupted into multi-coloured flames. The audience oohs and ahhs.

Everyone laughs about this for a bit, and then Caesar asks about her training scores. "Details! Details!" he urges.

Katniss glances at the Gamemakers' balcony. "I'm not supposed to talk about it, right?"

"She's not!" Heavensbee calls out. I make a mental note to get the full story from Heavensbee the next time I talk to him.

They chat a bit more, mostly about Katniss' sister, and then she's ushered off the stage for the last tribute – Peeta – to have his interview. Katniss came off as interesting but a bit silly, in my opinion, right until the end. When Caesar asks her what she said when her sister asked her to win, Katniss says in an unmistakably deadly voice, "I swore I would."

"She's the one," I tell Haymitch.

Haymitch crosses his arms. "Maybe. We'll see."

Peeta lumbers over to Flickerman – the kid is seriously muscled – and they immediately fall into friendly bantering. He's got a real way with words – kind of reminds me of a younger version of myself – and the crowd eats it up. Then Flickerman asks him if there are any girls he left behind back home, and Peeta mentions that there is. Flickerman tells him that he should win, and then the girl won't be able to resist him, and then Peeta drops a bombshell.

"I don't think that it's going to work out. Winning... won't help in my case."

"Why ever not?"

"Because... because... she came here with me."

Katniss looks floored. Peeta is blushing. The audience is cheering madly. Haymitch silently pumps his fist in the air. "Nailed it," he whispers.

"This was your strategy?" I demand, very impressed. "Star-crossed lovers? Capitol is going to eat it up. I can't believe no one's ever thought of that before. That Peeta kid is one hell of an actor."

"The boy actually is in love with Katniss," Haymitch confides.

I glance up at Peeta, and the way his eyes never seem to leave Katniss. I can believe it. But Katniss, even though she's pretending to be flustered by all the attention, clearly couldn't care less about Peeta. Oh, she's a good actress, but I'm better at reading emotions than she is at faking them. "Is Katniss going to play along?"

"She'll play," Haymitch says. "But she's suspicious. It's going to take a lot of work for Peeta to convince her that he's not just making this all up."

"Ah, young love," I sigh, and Haymitch chuckles.

We part ways, Haymitch going to congratulate Peeta on his excellent performance, and me back to the fourth floor to see how Jarvis is doing. I find him sitting in his room, staring out the window. "What are you thinking about?" I ask.

"Stuff," he shrugs.

I roll my eyes. "Night, kid."

I make my way up to the Sponsorship Room the next morning, just in time to see the Games kick off. After glancing at my workstation – Jarvis has no sponsors – I drag my chair over to Haymitch's workstation. This is where all the excitement will be happening, guaranteed. Sure enough, Jarvis dies off in the initial bloodbath. Sucks for him, but we both knew that he wouldn't get very far.

Things start out well for Katniss, though. She grabs a pack and sprints for the woods. Peeta joins up with the Careers – not sure how that happened – and starts what is possibly the best display of acting that the Hunger Games has ever seen. Every action he makes, every word he says, is all clearly done to help Katniss. Warning her to get away from the Cornucopia, because he knows that the Careers are gunning for her. Persuading his team to head in the opposite direction from Katniss, to put more distance between them. And as far as Haymitch and I can tell, the Careers don't suspect a thing. Not that Careers are usually chosen for their intelligence, in all fairness.

Then Katniss climbs a tree for the night, and an idiot girl makes camp beneath the exact same tree and lights up a fire. "Fool," Haymitch snarls. "Get away from there, girl." But Katniss apparently decides to take her chances in the tree – she is fairly well camouflaged – and it looks like her strategy might work out. At least, until the Careers show up a few hours later and slit fire-girl's throat.

They congratulate themselves and leave the area, but after a few minutes they realize that they haven't heard the cannon yet that signals the girl's death. To the relief of Haymitch and I, Peeta volunteers to go make sure that the girl is dead. Does he know that Katniss is in the tree? The girl expires before he has to do anything drastic like stab her again, and the Careers head out. Crisis averted.

The next day, Katniss encounters a serious problem. She has no water, and the thirst is starting to get to her. "Why don't you send her some water?" I ask Haymitch. "It's still early, and she has tons of sponsors."

Haymitch shakes his head. "I'm taking a page out of your book, pretty-boy."

"What page?"

He grins. "Communication through giving – or withholding – gifts. Look." He points to the map of the arena. "She's right by this pond. She'll stumble across it eventually. Why waste donations when she can find what she needs on her own?"

"And by not sending her water, she'll know that?" I ask, not sure his reasoning is sound.

"She's clever, she'll figure it out," Haymitch says.

And she does figure it out. It takes her a long time, and she nearly collapses. Haymitch almost gives in at one point and sends her the water, but he stops himself. "She has to understand that I'm trying to communicate with her," he says. "If I give in now, she won't get it."

Peeta is still with the Careers, and they're doing well enough. They've roped a kid from District 3 into helping them, and he's wired up their campsite with bombs. The bombs are actually the exploding discs that tributes have to stand on at the start of the Games. It's a brilliant idea, and Haymitch and I are duly impressed.

The Gamemakers must be bored with how things are progressing, however, because a few hours later they send a wall of fire racing across the arena. Katniss fares well enough, but her ankle gets severely burned in the process. She splashes some water on it a pool, and then falls asleep. Peeta and the Careers come across her a few hours later. Katniss – who, as I've learned from Haymitch, is an experienced hunter – jerks awake instantly and has clambered up a tree by the time the Careers get to her.

They shout catcalls at her and try to climb the tree, but none of them have much luck. Eventually, they set up watch and sleep at the base of the tree while Katniss perches perilously overhead. "Not good," Haymitch sighs.

"Wait," I blink, peering closer at the screen. "Is that a tracker jacker nest?"

Haymitch curses. "Wonderful."

Then Katniss spots it, and she gets this crafty look on her face. She glances down at the knife at her belt, and Haymitch and I figure out what she's planning instantly. It's a victor thing – we understand the way the tributes think, which is why we're their mentors. As soon as the anthem starts, Katniss starts sawing at the branch holding up the tracker jacker nest.

"Smart girl," Haymitch grins. "Using the noise to cover the sawing."

I'm more focused on her ankle, though, which is not looking good. "You going to do something about that?"

He smirks. "I was waiting for her to get her act together."

"Withholding medicine?" I say, shaking my head. "For shame."

"Yeah, yeah," he laughs. She only gets three quarters of the way through the branch when the anthem ends, so Katniss sits back and waits. "I think you deserve a reward," Haymitch says, and with a touch of his finger, a parachute of ointment floats down into Katniss' waiting hands.

"Oh, Haymitch," she whispers. "Thank you."

"So help me, that girl is going to survive this," Haymitch mutters.

I can't help but laugh. "Whether she likes it or not."

A few hours later, Katniss drops the tracker jacker nest on the Careers' heads. One of them falls, the rest flee, and Katniss goes back for the dead girl's bow and arrows. Peeta and the Careers dunk themselves in the water to get the tracker jackers off their scent, and then go back for their fallen comrade. When Peeta sees that Katniss is there, he shouts for her to run, and takes a knife in the leg from one of the Careers to give her time to escape. He stumbles off upriver, Katniss flees, and the Careers head back to their campsite.

"He really does love her," I say.

"Told you so," Haymitch replies.

"That wound looks bad."

"He'll live."

So Haymitch has his hopes pinned on Katniss. It doesn't surprise me, especially considering that Peeta seems to be going out of his way to get himself killed, as long as it gives Katniss more of a fighting chance.

Katniss teams up with Rue, the little girl from District 11, who helps her recover from the tracker jacker stings. Sure enough, she quickly befriends the girl, which sends Haymitch into a storm of cursing. "Relax," I advise him. "Katniss knows what she's doing."

"You've never met her," Haymitch groans. "You have no idea how stupid she can be."

Katniss and Rue hatch a plan to eliminate the Careers' food stash. Katniss sneaks up to the edge of the lake, where the Careers have placed their booby-trapped food, and waits until the Careers leave. She figures out the trap with the indirect help of the sly girl from District 5, and manages to set off one of the bombs and trigger a chain reaction that blows the food stash sky high. It also blows her sky high, and we think that she's lost her hearing in at least one ear.

She hurries back to meet Rue, but she discovers that the District 1 boy has killed her. Katniss lets fly an arrow that pierces deep into the kid's neck, and he falls to the ground with a choking gasp. "Damn," I blink, staring at the screen. "So she's an archer."

Haymitch grins. "That's how she got the 11 in training. She shot an arrow at Heavensbee. He fell into a bowl of punch." We share a short laugh over that, but cut it short, because Katniss is now singing a bittersweet song to Rue as she lies dying.

"She's amazing," I whisper. "How can you listen to that and not hate the Capitol?"

Katniss proceeds to drape Rue's body in flowers, another gesture of defiance that once again has me hoping that this girl on fire might just be the figurehead we've been waiting for. Rue's mentor comes over, a stern-faced man about Haymitch's age. He hands Haymitch a data chip. "Here is Rue's sponsorship money," he says gruffly. "I think that Rue would have wanted me to give it to Katniss."

Haymitch nods, accepts the chip, and slips it into the computer terminal. There's just enough money to buy something small. Haymitch thinks it over for a long while, and then sends Katniss a loaf of crescent-shaped bread, the official bread of District 11. When Katniss opens the package, her face goes blank for a minute, and I'm worried she's going to botch it, until she steps out into the sunshine and says, "My thanks to the people of District Eleven."

"And, scene," Haymitch says, shaking his head in admiration.


	47. Part 4: Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Eight**

"Templesmith is about to make an announcement," Haymitch says over the phone. I was catching a bit of shut-eye in my room, but his phone call has jerked me out of a rather pleasant dream starring – who else? – Annie. "Get up here."

I throw on some clothes and hurry into the elevator. I arrive at the Sponsorship Room just in time to hear the announcement. The rules have changed. Two tributes can win this year, as long as they're from the same district. "Did you do this?" I demand of Haymitch, who shakes his head.

"The Gamemakers must be trying to milk the star-crossed lovers angle," he says. "Talk about a stroke of luck."

"Peeta!" Katniss shouts on-screen, then claps her hands over her mouth.

I'm surprised by this reaction. "I thought you said she didn't care about him."

"She doesn't," Haymitch says. "At least, I didn't think she did. Interesting."

Now that Peeta is her ally, Katniss immediately starts to search for him. Ever since the tracker jacker incident, and the deep cut he received to his leg, Peeta has been stumbling his way upriver. Eventually he gave up on moving at all, especially since his leg became enflamed, and he used his stellar camouflage skills to paint himself into the river bank.

"No wonder the Gamemakers changed the rules," I note. "The good people of Capitol must be going crazy, watching Peeta slowly waste away like that."

Katniss finds him, and they have an awkward reunion. She tries to patch Peeta up, but he has blood poisoning, and they both know it. As they banter back and forth, Haymitch gets more and more annoyed. "You're supposed to be in love!" he howls at the screen. "Act like it!"

He's talking to Katniss, of course. And as if she hears his words, Katniss suddenly leans forward and kisses Peeta. "Thank you," Haymitch snarls, jabbing his finger at the gift catalogue. Moments later, a pot of hot broth floats down to them. Katniss' lips tighten in understanding. "Good girl," Haymitch sighs.

Katniss goes hunting the next day, and things are looking up... at least until we remember that Peeta is going to die of blood poisoning soon. "I get the whole sending a message thing," I tell Haymitch, "but he kind of needs that medicine."

Haymitch scrolls through the gift catalogue until he finds it, but both our hearts sink when we see the price – way higher than what we can afford. "Looks like our star-crossed lovers act may have to be cut short," Haymitch sighs. Although his tone is light, I can see that he is deeply troubled by this.

But as they did during my Games, the Gamemakers call for a feast. For me, that meant gathering my opponents all in one place so I could take them out. For Katniss, however, it means getting something that she desperately needs. Haymitch calls a few of his contacts to figure out what this something might be. "Medicine," he finally says.

When Peeta tries to protest Katniss going, Haymitch sends her a dose of sleeping potion. Peeta goes under, and Katniss goes to the feast. She nearly gets knifed by one of the female Careers, but Rue's district mate – the huge kid named Thresh – protects Katniss. Even more shocking, he lets her go when Katniss tells him what happened to Rue. I've never seen such a run of decency in a single Hunger Games.

Katniss returns to Peeta and jabs him with the hypodermic needle she retrieves from the feast. Peeta gets better, and they start into this incredibly awkward conversation about their pasts. I have no idea what Katniss is doing, until she starts kissing Peeta. Ah, she's playing up the love angle. But does Peeta know she's faking it? It's hard to tell, but I think he's oblivious.

"This is painful to watch," I snap at Haymitch. "He loves her, but she doesn't love him. He thinks that she loves him, but she thinks that he's just pretending. Argh."

"Welcome to my world," Haymitch snorts.

Later on, Katniss and Peeta end up in yet another awkward conversation. But things finally start to get good when Peeta tells her that he has loved her since they were kids. It's the perfect segue into a romantic moment, and for once Katniss doesn't disappoint.

"I remember everything about you," Peeta says. "You're the one who wasn't paying attention."

"I am now," she responds.

"Wel, I don't have much competition here."

"Say it!" Haymitch shouts at the screen. "Say it, you infuriating girl!"

"You don't have much competition anywhere," Katniss says, and they share a kiss that convinces even me.

"Thank you!" Haymitch explodes, and sends a tureen of lamb stew down to her. "That's what I'm looking for, sweetheart."

"I'm impressed," I tell him, leaning back in my chair. "You really understand her."

"Whatever," Haymitch sighs, staggering to his feet. "I'm going to sleep. Call me if she does anything more idiotic than usual." I give him a mock salute, and he stumbles off toward the elevator.

The sly looking girl from District 5 dies the next day. It's kind of funny, in a morbid way, because she steals some of the berries that Peeta picks and eats them, except Peeta accidentally chose the ones that were poisonous. She dies due to his incompetence, which kind of depresses me, because she's one of the smartest tributes I've ever seen. Well, maybe not as smart as Beetee and Wiress, but they're certified geniuses.

Thresh falls to Cato – the male Career from District 2 – leaving only him, Katniss, and Peeta left alive. Deducing this, Katniss and Peeta head for the lake, figuring that they might as well get the confrontation over with sooner rather than later.

But what they don't know is that the Gamemakers have released a pack of mutts. They're shaped more or less like dogs, and the Gamemakers are apparently attempting to screw with the tributes' minds, because the dogs' eyes and hair have been styled to look like their fellow – now dead – tributes. The mutts catch Cato's scent, who's also heading toward the lake, and when he sees them approaching he screams and runs.

When he appears by the lakeside, Katniss tries to kill him, but he picked up body armor from the feast. She and Peeta quickly figure out what's going on, because all three flee for the cornucopia, apparently hoping that the mutts won't be able to climb it. They scramble up the golden basket and valiantly defend themselves from the mutts, who are trying to scale the sides of the cornucopia.

Then things get tricky. Peeta gets a bit too close to Cato, and he retaliates by grabbing Peeta in a headlock. Katniss immediately aims the bow at Cato's head, but I can see the hesitation in her eyes.

"Shoot me, and he goes down with me," Cato shouts.

"Shoot him," Haymitch growls at the screen.

I can't keep quiet either. "What's she waiting for? Take him down!"

Peeta starts to asphyxiate. Then, apparently having developed telepathic abilities, Peeta traces out an X on Cato's hand, and Katniss shoots him there. Cato screams and reflexively releases Peeta, the momentum accidentally sending Cato tumbling off the side of the cornucopia.

"Victory?" I blink.

"Not yet," Haymitch says grimly.

And he's right. It takes hours. Cato's body armor prevents most of his major organs from being damaged, so the mutts take their sweet time ripping him limb from limb. He screams, and screams, and I think Peeta actually falls asleep at some point while waiting for Cato to die. Eventually Cato is dragged in range of Katniss' bow, and she sinks an arrow deep into his skull to end his misery. Yet another act of mercy that is entirely out of place in the Hunger Games, and yet another reason that Katniss might just be the perfect figurehead for our rebellion.

They stagger down to the lakeside and wait for Templesmith to announce that they've won. Instead, he says, "Greetings to the final contestants of the 74th Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor."

"No!" Haymitch howls, and for a moment I'm genuinely concerned for his sanity. He has a look of such grief in his eyes that I'm afraid he's going to lose it like Annie did. And I don't blame him. This is a low thing for Snow to do, even for him. Maybe Snow has started to realize that letting Katniss Everdeen out of the arena alive might not be the best idea after all.

Peeta and Katniss absorb this new information, and she immediately overreacts and aims her bow at him, apparently convinced that he's going to try and kill her. Never mind that he's clearly in love with her, and is on the verge of passing out from blood loss. Spunky girl, but not too clever at times.

They argue about who should win for a few minutes, and then Katniss suddenly pauses. Her eyes get a strange glint, as if she's figured something out. "What's she doing?" I ask Haymitch, because he always seems to know what Katniss is thinking.

"I have no idea," Haymitch admits.

Katniss hands Peeta a handful of the poisonous berries they accidentally killed the District 5 girl with, and her intention is clear. They're both going to commit suicide. They raise the berries in the air, clutching each other's hands, and start counting down.

Every mentor in the room is now gathered around Haymitch's workstation, staring breathlessly at the screen. Will Snow really let them both die? Doesn't there have to be a victor?

Just as they're about to swallow the berries, Templesmith shouts, "Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the 74th Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you – the tributes of District 12!"

The room erupts in cheers and applause. Haymitch sinks back in his chair, actual tears of happiness gathering in his eyes, and I clap him on the shoulder. "You did it," I shout over the noise. "We won!"

"I need a drink," Haymitch replies.

Katniss and Peeta are flown back to Capitol, where a medical team will get them back into presentable shape for the closing interview. During these days, I don't have time to be happy that they both survived. I have more pressing concerns.

Haymitch shows up at my door in the middle of the night a few hours after Katniss and Peeta win, and we sneak out of the building and over to the Victor's Spire. We end up on the twelfth floor, where a group of people have gathered. "Inner circle of the rebellion, meet Finnick," Haymitch says by way of introduction. "Finnick, inner circle of the rebellion."

I'm surprised to see that I know almost everyone in the room. There are quite a few victors – not surprising, considering how royally the Capitol has screwed with our lives – as well as a great deal of highly ranked Capitol citizens. Plutarch Heavensbee is revealed to be the leader of the rebellion, and once a few more people are brought in and introduced – apparently I wasn't the only one kept out of the loop – he starts to speak.

"Seneca Crane was arrested a few hours ago," Heavensbee announces. "He will be executed in the morning. Snow took Katniss Everdeen's little drama with the berries as a sign of rebellion, and Crane is paying the price for not shooting her where she stood."

"Then he's definitely worried?" Beetee asks.

"Of course he is," Johanna snaps. I hadn't realized she was there, so I catch her eye and wink. She grins.

"Haymitch and Finnick have been watching over Katniss during the Games," Heavensbee says, getting straight to the point. "What's your evaluation?"

"She's the one we've been waiting for," Haymitch says firmly. "She doesn't even know about the rebellion, and look what she's done. The silent protest in District 12, her song for Rue, the berries... the girl's a natural firebrand. And the whole of Panem has been with her every step of the way – we should capitalize on what she's accomplished, before Snow regains control the situation."

"I've been asking my... Capitol associates about Katniss," I add, and several people laugh, because they know I'm talking about my lovers. "They can't get enough of her, but they don't think of her as a rebel. But some of them – the higher up ones – are worried, because they think that Snow is worried."

"Thank you, both," Heavensbee says. "So here's what I'm asking. Do we throw our support behind Katniss Everdeen, or do we not? By support, I mean direct and outright rebellion. Each of the victors will go home to their individual districts and start suing for revolt. Your families will be put at risk, and your lives in danger. I can't ask anyone to do this unless we have a unanimous decision."

"Will we have support from 13?" Johanna barks.

"They've started to prepare for war," Heavensbee nods. "It will take them some time, but if we can fan the flames hot enough, then they will help."

The room falls silent as everyone considers the implications of a rebellion. I will have to do my part, sowing discontent in District 4, and that will bring trouble down on the heads of everyone I know. Including Annie. I've worked so hard to keep my loved ones safe – do I have to sacrifice that, now, for the good of Panem?

But if Annie knew about the rebellion, I think that she would want me to do this. Besides, it was Capitol and Snow that hurt her in the first place. They need to be punished. They need to be taken down.

"Screw you all," Johanna snarls. "Snow needs to die. I'm in."

"I agree," I say. "Panem has suffered long enough under Snow's oppression."

One by one, the victors and Capitol citizens raise their voices in agreement, until it's only Haymitch left who hasn't spoken. Even Mags, who is lurking in one of the back corners, mumbles something that is probably an affirmative. I see that she's leaning against a cane, which surprises me – although I guess she is over eighty now, so the fact that she's having difficulty walking shouldn't come as such a shock.

Finally, Haymitch says, "What about the girl? Snow already distrusts her. He could hurt her, and her family. We can't make that choice for her."

"She made her choice when she raised those berries in the air," Johanna says mercilessly. "Too late to back out now. Yes or no, Haymitch?"

"Yes," Haymitch says.

Heavensbee smiles. "Then it would seem the districts of Panem are now in rebellion."


	48. Part 4: Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Nine**

The first few weeks following Katniss' revolutionary Hunger Games are torture. I go back to District 4, ready and eager to get this rebellion started, but I can't do anything until Heavensbee contacts me. I don't know if this will be by phone, or courier, or a whisper in the night, but I know it's coming. I just don't know when. And the waiting is killing me.

To keep myself occupied, I take to sailing up and down the coast with Annie. Every time we pass a seaside settlement – all villages in District 4 are by the sea – I leave Annie on the boat and go into town, to get a feel of the place. More specifically, to see how they are reacting to Katniss' berry antics. Most people recognize me, which I think helps them speak their mind, because they couple their thoughts on Katniss with questions for me. Can't there only be one victor? Do you know Katniss? Isn't their romance wonderful?

I get a mysterious package a month after the Games. When I open it, I find a wafer-thin cookie that has been dyed to resemble a mockingjay. I don't get it at first, until I remember that Katniss wore a pin in the arena that was shaped like a mockingjay. Is this the new symbol of the rebellion?

The next day I get another package, and this one contains instructions. I'm to find as many ways as possible to spread this mockingjay through my district, be it via cookies, or fish cakes, or however I choose. Thankful to finally have something to do, I immediately gather my think tank – Mags, Coral, and Natare. I purposely leave Blake, Mara, and Annie out of this, because I wouldn't put it past Snow to torture them for information, and I don't want them involved. I would prefer to leave Natare out of it also, but she's my sister, so she's kind of already a target.

We all gather at Mags' house, although only Natare has no idea why we're here. I decide to be the one to tell her about the rebellion, and I do so with my usual panache. "Natare, there's a rebellion, and I'm part of it. Want to join?"

Natare puts her hands on her hips and glares up at me. "Really?"

"What?" I protest.

She shakes her head tiredly. "You're impossible."

"Is that a yes?"

"Of course it is," Natare sighs, and we get down to business.

Since I've already been doing the coastal route for the past few weeks, we agree that I'll spread word of the rebellion by sea. We come up with mockingjay flags that the fishermen can fly on their boats when they're far out to sea. This isn't as dangerous as it sounds, because Capitol doesn't bother patrolling the waters. The sea is too vast, and it's not like fishing boats are going to do much damage in a revolution. But the anonymity of the water is perfect for my purposes.

Coral decides to walk up and down the coast, passing out the mockingjay cookies, which Mags vows to figure out how to bake. That will be Mags' job – the baking. And Natare is in charge of the young people. She will go among the populace and quietly spread discontent against the Capitol – not that there isn't enough of that going around already. Natare's also in charge of recruiting rebels to the cause.

"Try to recruit the baker first," Mags suggests. "I've never baked a cookie in my life."

We all set out on our assigned tasks. Figuring that Annie will be safer with me, out on the open sea and as far away as physically possible from President Snow's clutches, I bring her along. Since I can't tell her exactly what I'm up to, in case she's ever kidnapped, I explain it to her as best I can. "I have to talk to our district," I explain, taking her soft hands in mine. "Things aren't right, and I need to help them see that."

Annie bites her lip. "How long will you be gone?"

"A few months at least." I raised her hands to my lips and kiss them. "Want to come with me?"

Annie's aunt, who has a decent grasp on the complicated nature of my relationship with Annie, gives her niece the go-ahead and even helps her pack. I feel a pang of guilt as I drag Annie's luggage out of the house – her aunt stands at the door, watching us go with a look of longing. With her husband so recently passed, she must be incredibly lonely, and taking Annie away from her certainly won't help matters. But Annie is safer with me than her aunt, so it's an easy decision to make.

At first I just bring Annie with me for her own protection, not even considering the consequences of being alone with her at sea for months. Then, about two hours after leaving the dock, lounging with Annie on deck while my advanced-tech boat steers itself through the waves, it occurs to me that Annie and I are, in fact, going to be alone at sea for months.

"We don't have to hide," I say out of the blue.

Annie, who is leaning back in her chair watching the clouds float lazily overhead, blinks and turns to me. "What?"

I leap to my feet, throwing my arms in the air. "Annie, we don't have to hide! Out here, in the middle of the sea, with no one around for miles? We don't have to hide!"

Since she still isn't getting it, I bend down, gather her up in my arms, and kiss her senseless.

When I let her go a few minutes later, Annie staggers back with a dazed smile. "Oh."

The possibilities suddenly crashing through my mind are staggering. And the most enticing one revolves, naturally, around one of the things I'm best at. Since she's still staring at me and looking starstruck, I slip my arms around her waist and kiss her on the nose. "With no one around," I whisper in her ear, trailing a line of kisses along her jawbone, "I can kiss you whenever I want."

"Whenever," Annie agrees, melting against me.

My hands leave her waist and trace up the curve of her torso, settling at the collar of her shirt. Pushing the fabric down to expose more of her succulent flesh, I murmur seductively, "Wherever I want." I kiss her shoulder, her collarbone, and then down further, until Annie is blushing scarlet from the intimacy of my touch.

"Wherever," she breathes.

At this point I stop, as I always do, and look at her eyes, making sure before we go any further that it's Annie in control, and not her Hunger Games-inspired madness. But she meets my gaze firmly, and that's all the permission I need to scoop her up, lay her down on the deck, and have my way with her. Not that Annie seems to overly mind my pent-up passion, considering the way she's moaning my name a few minutes later.

The next five months are spent at sea. My boat Gemma – named after a fallen ally during my own Hunger Games – is equipped with all the latest Capitol technology, so navigating is simple, and I've been fishing all my life, so keeping well fed is easy enough. My only concern is fresh water, but the boat comes equipped with some high-tech gadget that desalinates sea water, so water isn't a problem either. And as for company… Annie, smiling or sad, crazy or sane, is all the company I could ever want or need.

I also find a device on my boat that pings when other vessels are nearby. This makes it child's play to track down other fishing vessels. From there, Annie goes to hide in the cabin, I call out a greeting, hop over to their craft, explain about the mockingjay and the evils of the Capitol, and offer them a special mockingjay flag. Most accept, as eager to overthrow Snow's tyranny as I am. Others are reluctant about flying such an obviously unpatriotic flag, but I remind them that the Capitol doesn't leave the shore, and if they're worried, just to take it down when they near land.

About four months into our sea journey, the rumors I hear from other fishermen indicate that things are coming to a head in Panem. Many of the districts are restless, Snow is increasing Peacekeeper presence in the more volatile areas – especially 3, 8, and 11 – and the mockingjay symbol is spreading like wildfire. Fitting, considering it was the girl on fire who gave us the mockingjay in the first place.

I keep in constant contact with Mags, Natare, and Coral, but they keep telling me to wait. The time isn't right to strike. Wait until the iron is hot. So Annie and I continue sailing up and down the coast, waiting, always waiting.

Then, one morning while in the middle of handing over a stack of mockingjay flags to a jolly, bearded sailor, it hits me. Isn't this endless voyage a metaphor for my relationship with Annie? We can't be together, officially, properly, until the threat of Snow and his tyrannical regime is permanently removed. So we're waiting, sneaking around in secret, hiding our love from the world. And while I'm okay with that, maybe Annie deserves more.

Annie is sleeping, recovering from a particularly nasty fit she had last night in which she dreamed she was standing on a mountain made of the corpses of the other tributes whom she had competed against. She was so traumatized that I had to dose her with some sleeping pills so she would stop shaking and screaming. I hate to have to resort to drugs, but sometimes there just isn't any other way to calm her down.

While she sleeps, I prepare the ship for my surprise. We happen to be passing near a village that afternoon, so I pull Gemma in to port and go shopping. Once we're back out to sea, I unpack my purchases and begin setting up.

First up are the strings of lights, which I drape around the mast, the roof of the cabin, and the railings of my sailing ship. I place paper lanterns strategically around the edges of the deck, and as dark approaches, they light up the boat with a gentle, mystic glow. Onto the deck goes a light blue blanket, upon which I spread out the feast I bought at the village – cheese and grapes, smoked salmon, fresh baked bread, and a small, ludicrously expensive bottle of spiced rum.

As the sun sets, I tiptoe into the cabin and quickly change into one of the light summer suits I brought along, for when I have to meet with the various village chiefs and want to make a good impression. It's a bit stifling at first, but I know that out on deck, with the sea breeze, I'll be the perfect temperature.

All that's left to do is wake up Annie. Kneeling down beside her, I slide my fingers into her silky brown hair and curl the strands around them. When she doesn't stir, I bend over and press a soft kiss to her lips.

"Finnick?" she murmurs, blinking her beautiful sea green eyes at me. "What time is it?"

"Hungry?" I ask, smiling seductively.

"How can you make a simple dinner invitation sound like a sexual proposition?" Annie asks rhetorically, pressing a hand to her mouth as she yawns. "Did I sleep the whole day?"

Since I don't want to admit I drugged her – besides, that will only freak her out – I shrug and say, "I guess I wore you out last night."

This makes her giggle softly. "But we didn't do anything last night."

I wink. "Then we'll just have to make up for that tonight, won't we?"

Annie suddenly stares at me, wide-eyed. "Why are you wearing a suit?"

I hop to my feet and strike a sexy pose. "I'm attempting to seduce you, obviously. Is it working?"

She looks down, blushing. "Always."

And to think I was convinced that I couldn't possibly love her more than I already do. "Put on your prettiest dress," I tell her. "Tonight, we're celebrating."

"Celebrating what?"

"It's a surprise," I grin.

I go outside and, after making a few last minute preparations, I flop down on the picnic blanket and stretch out, waiting for my date to arrive. After a few minutes, the cabin door swings open, and Annie steps out. She's wearing a lacy white dress that makes her look like a fragile doll – a sexy doll, mind you – and she's brushed her hair out so that it floats down her back in lazy curls. I think she even put on some makeup, because her eyes seem bigger, and her lips look even more kissable than usual.

"You look gorgeous," I announce, leaping up.

Annie sees the picnic, the lights, the lanterns, and gasps in delighted shock. As she clasps her hands to her mouth to hide her smile, I skirt the picnic blanket and grab at her fluffy white skirt, swaying the material back and forth as she laughs. "I don't understand," she admits.

"Considering this is a romantic getaway, it hasn't been very romantic thus far," I explain, taking her hands and helping her sit down on the blanket.

As I drop down beside her and reach for the spiced rum, she says, "But I thought you were trying to convince people about the government being bad, and—"

"And since this is a romantic getaway," I continue, stuffing a hunk of cheese in her mouth to squelch her protests, "I thought we should have a proper date. Fancy dinner, twinkling lanterns, dancing…"

Annie gets a faraway look in her eyes. "Dancing?"

Shit, have I accidentally triggered another breakdown? But no, she's actually lost in thought this time, not on the verge of succumbing to another wave of false, nightmarish memories. "Since the first time I really noticed you – you know, as a woman, not just my kid sister's friend – was the dance where I beat up what's-his-name—"

"Reef," Annie supplies, eyes sparkling.

I shrug easily. "Right. Since that was the first time I, at least subconsciously, realized that you were the only one for me, I've tried to mimic the evening as closely as I could. How'd I do?"

Annie glances around, eyeing the decorations. "Well, we didn't have dinner that night," she points out.

"I couldn't very well have let you starve, could I?" I counter, snagging a grape. Annie surprises me by leaning over and snatching it with her mouth, plump lips closing around the fruit. "Good god, Annie," I rasp, because she really has no idea what she does to me. If I didn't have this whole evening meticulously planned, I probably would have ravaged her right then and there on the picnic blanket, underneath the stars.

I've noticed before that Annie's breakdowns tend not to happen when she's really happy, or in a romantic mood, so I make it my personal mission to keep her smiling – and hopefully lusting after me – the entire night. Cracking open the bottle of rum, I pour some into a glass tumbler and hand it to Annie. "Rum?" she blinks.

"Try it," I suggest, pouring myself a glass and taking a sip. "This is the good stuff, trust me."

And since Annie trusts me, she tries the amber liquid. "It's… weird," she says, licking her lips thoughtfully. "I think I like it."

"I thought you might," I smirk.

We eat dinner in silence, so content to simply be in each other's company that we don't feel the need to resort to speech. When Annie finishes eating, I immediately abandon my own plate and jump to my feet. Bending at the waist, I offer my hand to her, which she accepts with a giggle. I pull her to her feet, then lead her over to the bow of the ship, where I've set up a music box – ancient and battered in comparison to Mags', but still serviceable for my needs.

"When did you find the time to do all this?" Annie asks, as I slip my arms around her. Giving a contented sigh, she leans against me, pressing her cheek against my chest.

"It's a secret," I say, grinning into her hair. Removing my hand from her waist momentarily, I reach over and flick on the music box. It begins to play a soft, crackling tune. Stepping away from Annie, I bow deeply. "Care to dance?"

Annie beams up at me, and practically throws herself into my arms.

I've spoken to men who say that they refuse to dance, even if it's their wife or lover asking them. I think that these men are unbearably stupid. Passing up the opportunity to hold someone you love in your arms, knowing that they are your whole world, and that you are theirs? Knowing that simply dancing with them, even for one song, will make them happy? I simply can't understand what goes on in some men's minds. If I get the chance to make Annie happy, I do it, because seeing her smile makes me smile. I guess I just have a different definition of love than some people do.

The battered record has only three songs, and once the last one crackles out of existence, I gently step away from Annie. She looks confused. When I drop to my knee and take her hand in mine, she looks even more confused. When I reach into my pocket with my free hand and pull out a ring – an interwoven silver and gold band set with a sparkling sapphire that matches her eyes – she gasps.

"Finnick," she says uncertainly.

"Annie," I say, sliding the ring onto her finger. It's a perfect fit. "I love you. More than anything. And I think you know that. But you also know that I can't marry you, not now, anyway, and I've been trying to think of some way to show you that, no matter what happens, I'm yours. This is a promise from me that one day – be it a few months, or a few decades – I will marry you, and we'll be together forever."

Annie smiles tremulously, gazing down at the ring. "What about 'til death do us part'?"

I kiss her fingers, right over the ring that I've placed on her hand. "We'll leave that part out of the vows. I can't get enough of you in life, and I doubt I'll be able to in death either."

Her eyes well up with tears, and then she throws herself at me. "Oh, Finnick," she wails, nearly knocking me over with the force of her embrace. Steadying us, I press kisses to her forehead as she sobs into my shoulder. "I love you s-so much, I—"

Since kissing usually works well at silencing her, I try it out. When that does the trick, I kiss her more. When Annie starts to wriggle against me, I decide that enough is enough. "Is that a yes, then?"

"Of course it is," she says reproachfully, as if insulted that I could have possibly expected another answer.

I give her my best seductive grin. "Then shall we retire to the cabin?"

Her cheeks pink, and she nods.

Laughing softly, I pick her up – puffy white dress and all – sweep her off to my bed, and show her exactly how much I love her.


	49. Part 4: Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Ten**

When I get back, Katniss and Peeta's victory tour has come and gone, and the state of Panem has changed drastically in my absence. Katniss nearly starts a riot in District 11 with some speech about the tragic death of Rue, and a full-scale revolt breaks out a few weeks later. In districts like 8, 3, and my own, they chant Katniss' name when she appears on stage, despite her obvious efforts to be as un-inspirational as possible. Snow must have threatened her, as we knew he would, and she's trying to play along. Not that it's doing any good.

I get another anonymous package in the mail. District 8 has had an uprising. It was quashed, but Snow is definitely getting worried. The package also includes a note addressed specifically to me:

_Finnick,_

_4's time approaches. Be ready._

_Plutarch_

Apparently Heavensbee and I are on a first name basis now. I relay the message to Coral and Natare, whose information campaign has yielded spectacular results. All the food stores have fresh mockingjay cookies in their windows, put inside special displays that can be flipped around to display entirely different goods the instant a peacekeeper is sighted. Sailors display the mockingjay flag proudly as soon as they leave port.

Finally, when spring is just around the corner, I get the okay from Heavensbee. A little kid runs up to me in the middle of the market one afternoon, bearing a nondescript package that I instantly know is from Heavensbee. I open it up, and find a piece of paper with a crude sketch of a mockingjay, and the words "Do it".

By now our little revolutionary group has extended far beyond just Coral, Mags, Natare and I. We have headquarters in each village, local leaders to rally the troops, school teachers and other intellectuals drawing up battle plans for when we finally put all our planning into action. When Heavensbee tells me to start the uprising, it's as simple a matter as strolling over to the baker, who is cheerfully chatting with a customer, and clearing my throat.

"Finnick?" the baker blinks.

"Go time."

A look of astonishment flashes across his face, quickly followed by determination. "I'll spread the word," he vows. "When?"

I consider this a moment. Our head peacekeeper, Cordus, is a lazy man who rarely leaves his residence – which isn't that surprising, considering up until a few months ago the residents of District 4 were hardly a rebellious lot. Now, though, he's taken to holding public hearings and trials every Sunday – his way of reminding us that the Capitol is still in control.

"Sunday," I say.

By Sunday, everyone knows the plan. The problem with District 4 is that we're so spread out – the coast is massive, and our population is clustered in little villages up and down the shoreline. Even the central village only has maybe a thousand people. Capitol has a few peacekeeper stations up and down the coast to help keep an eye on things, but their main entrance and exit points are all concentrated in the main village.

This means that the first thing we need to do is get control of the main village. From there, we'll detain all the peacekeepers, lock them up somewhere, and then... well, I'm not sure what then. Stop exporting fish, and try to keep the Capitol troops away, I guess. The point of the uprisings is to weaken Snow, not unseat him. That will be District 13's job – they have all the hovercrafts and heavy artillery, after all – and I have no idea when they're going to join the party.

The plan goes off without a hitch. As soon as Cordus takes the stage in the city square and starts to call forward people for disciplinary measures, our troops strike. Within a matter of minutes all the peacekeepers are disarmed, Cordus is in custody, and we've used the peacekeepers' weapons to take control of the train station. Cordus, idiot that he is, never saw it coming, and we take full advantage of that. I'm at the thick of things, trident in hand, and several peacekeepers just drop their weapons when I approach them. They must remember me from the Games.

When night arrives and Capitol still hasn't struck back, there's not much for me to do but go back to Mags' house and celebrate our victory. Mags breaks out a bottle of wine, and she, Natare, Coral, and I toast the uprising's success.

"You realize that this won't last," Natare says eventually. "Snow has hovercrafts, and thousands of troops. Once he gets his act together, they're going to destroy us."

"Eye on the prize," I remind her. "We're just the distraction. It's in places like 11, 8, and 3 that the real differences will be made. They've got the machinery and manpower. What do we have?"

"Barbecued eel," Coral says, slurping up a piece of the aforementioned seafood.

I laugh and take a piece from the platter.

We last two weeks. Snow only sends a token force against us, apparently not perceiving us to be any real sort of threat. These particular peacekeepers are more trigger-happy than our local ones, however, so we end up sending Snow back their heads after they fire on a group of innocent school-children.

This gets his attention. Hovercrafts blacken the sky all along the coast, and when the peacekeepers rappel down the lines and storm our villages this time, we don't stand a chance. They confiscate our weapons, lock us in our homes, and shoot a few of us for good measure. It's quick, and brutal, and exactly what I expected. I just hope our distraction served whatever purpose Heavensbee intended for it.

Then something happens that I did not expect. A few hours after the peacekeepers have re-secured city hall and the train station, President Snow appears on my doorstep. It's so completely out of the blue that when I open the door and see him, I just stand there and gape at him.

"Finnick," Snow simpers. "Is this any way to treat an old friend?"

Snow definitely isn't an old friend, but I notice that, for the first time, Snow seems to be aware of this too. In past encounters, he's seen me as nothing more than a testosterone-driven teenager. Now, though, he looks me directly in the eye, and I know that he's realized the truth . Hard not to, really, considering I practically led the rebellion here in District 4, and didn't exactly take any measures to hide my involvement.

"Come on in," I invite.

"I think I'll stay right here," Snow insists. Not sure what he's playing at, I scan the street more thoroughly. Sure enough, he has at least three sharp-shooters positioned among various bushes, ready to knock me down if I make a threatening move.

"What do you want?" I demand, letting all pretenses of politeness drop. He knows I'm an enemy now, so why pretend otherwise?

"I enjoyed your little uprising," Snow says, smiling evilly. "I'll be honest with you, my boy, I didn't think you would be involved. Actually, my men report that you were behind the whole thing. Not smart, Finnick."

"You didn't really expect me to sit back and do nothing while you threatened everyone I care about, did you?" I taunt. Snow's lips press together, and I don't bother hiding the smirk, because I know that I got to him.

"I did, actually," Snow admits. "But no matter. You've made your decision, and now I shall make mine."

Two peacekeepers suddenly burst out of Coral's house, dragging her between them. My fellow victor is struggling wildly, but is years out of practice, and is no match against their sheer muscle. "What are you doing?" I demand angrily.

"Just watch," Snow says pleasantly.

The peacekeepers bring her to the end of my front walkway, so that I'm only ten yards away from her. "What the hell is this about, Snow?" Coral snarls, thrashing pointlessly in her captors' arms. "Let me go! I didn't do anything!"

"You most certainly did," Snow replies, and his eyes are lit with a malicious glint. "You aided and abetted an uprising, my dear. Where I come from, we call that treason. And now you will pay the penalty."

One of the peacekeepers raises his pistol to Coral's head and pulls the trigger. She doesn't even have time to scream before she crumples down to the ground, dead.

"You bastard!" I shout, unable to contain my fury. I lunge at Snow, but more peacekeepers appear out of nowhere and restrain me before I can get within two feet of him. "In cold blood! How could you?"

"I would be more concerned about myself, if I were you," Snow advises calmly. He takes the gun of one of peacekeepers restraining me and points it straight between my eyes. "You played me for a fool, Finnick. I don't forgive slights like that easily."

"Then kill me," I growl.

Snow taps a finger against his lips, then lowers the gun. "Tempting, my boy, very tempting. But while Coral merely committed treason, you did something far worse. You deceived me." He suddenly smiles. "Oh, but that is a good idea. I like it."

"What?" I bark.

He wiggles a finger at me. "No, no, you'll have to wait and see just like the rest of them. I think you'll enjoy it, however. There's a certain poetic irony to the whole thing." Snow glances at one of the peacekeepers. "Or is it just normal irony? I'm never sure."

Snow tilts his head to me, then marches off down my front walkway. The peacekeepers keep a firm grip on me until Snow is out of sight before they release me. "Don't leave town," one of them tells me, and they hurry after their president.

Natare, who was in the kitchen during this entire encounter, runs up to me and throws her arms around me. She and her husband have been staying at my house ever since the rebellion, figuring it was safer than their little cottage down in the village. "Finnick, are you alright? What hap..." She trails off, spotting Coral's body sprawled on our walkway. Natare darts to her side and presses her fingers to Coral's neck. "Finnick, she's not breathing!"

"Probably because Snow shot her in the head," I say, not moving from the doorway. My mind is spinning with Snow's obscure threat. What could he possibly mean, poetic irony? What is he planning? I have no doubt that he's going to kill me, but what I can't figure out is why he didn't just do it today.

Natare gets slowly to her feet and asks me what happened. I tell her, and she looks as bewildered as I feel. "I don't understand."

"Me neither," I say helplessly. Glancing up at the sky, I imagine that it's Plutarch Heavensbee's face I'm looking at, and not a deceptively peaceful cumulus cloud. "This had better be worth it," I mutter.


	50. Part 4: Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Eleven**

I get my answer the next day. We bury Coral in the morning sun, a small, quiet ceremony that only a handful of people attend. Everyone is still confined to house arrest, and braving the peacekeepers patrolling the streets to pay their respects simply isn't an option for most people. Then, in the afternoon, the television switches on of its own accord. Intrigued, I call up Annie.

"Hey, Annie," I say. "Did your television just turn on?"

"Yes," she says, sounding worried. I glance out my front window, and don't see any peacekeepers.

"I'll be over in a second," I tell her, and hang up. Then I shout up the stairs, "Natare! I'm going to Annie's!" It takes me a second to remember that she isn't here. She's gone back down to the village with her husband, at the peacekeepers' insistence.

I double check that there aren't any peacekeepers hovering around, then dart across the street as stealthily as possible. Annie is waiting at the door to let me in, and we settle down in front of her television set just in time to see Caesar Flickerman announce, "That's right, this year will be the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Hunger Games, and that means it's time for our third Quarter Quell!"

"Crap," I mutter. "I completely forgot."

Annie starts to shudder at the mention of the Hunger Games. "Do you want to go upstairs?" I ask her quickly. But she shakes her head, so I wrap my arms around her and try to comfort her as best I can.

Snow takes the stage, and starts to babble on about the rebellion and how horrible it was. Finally, though, he gets back on topic. "And now we honor our third Quarter Quell. On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

Annie gives a strangled sob and buries her face in my chest, shaking. I instantly begin to murmur soothing nothings into her ear, but I'm not really focusing. All I can think is that, if Snow was looking for the perfect way to get back at me for the uprising, then this is definitely it. Forcing me back into the arena? I'm getting chills just thinking about it.

I'm loathe to leave Annie's side at a time like this, but I have to go see Mags, make sure she's alright. She's like a grandmother to me, after all. Annie's aunt was taking a nap during the broadcast, so I find her, wake her up, and explain what happened. She looks as stricken as her niece, but I make her promise to watch over Annie while I'm gone. Once I'm sure they're okay, I head straight for Mags' house.

I find Mags sitting in shocked silence on her lace-covered couch. Instantly I drop down onto the couch beside her and hug her tightly. "I never thought I would have to go back into the arena," Mags whispers.

"I know," I reply. I'm not sure why I haven't started to panic yet – maybe because I knew that Snow was planning something horrible for me, so the big reveal wasn't as shocking as it should have been. Then the phone rings.

"Hello?" I say. I'm not expecting a call – and definitely not on Mags' phone – so the identity of the caller is a complete mystery.

"It's Plutarch. I just found out. Don't do anything stupid. I'm going to talk to 13 and figure out a way to get you out of this. Just lay low until I contact you again."

"Got it," I say curtly, and Heavensbee hangs up.

"Who was that?" Mags asks.

"Heavensbee. He says he's going to try and find a way to help us out." I give a deep sigh. "But if he doesn't find a way, we're going to need to face the very real possibility that some of us are going back into the arena. The question is, who."

Mags toddles over to the kitchen cabinet and extracts a bag of sugar cubes. She pops a handful in her mouth and begins to suck on them as she thinks aloud. "You said that Snow threatened you."

"He did," I agree. "Which means that my name is definitely going to be called. Now we just have to figure out who the girl will be."

"It will be either Annie or I," Mags says matter-of-factly. "Snow would have to be an idiot not to realize there's an organized rebellion, and if you're a part of it, it's almost guaranteed that Annie and I are involved."

"But Annie's not involved," I say.

"He won't care," Mags reminds me sharply. "I can imagine two scenarios. If Pompey pulls my name, I'll just have to go into the arena with you. And if he pulls Annie's name, I'll volunteer and come in anyway."

The idea of Mags going back into the arena is too horrifying to consider, but how can I contradict her when she's right? We both know that Annie wouldn't stand a chance, and Mags has come to love her as much as she loves me. And I know exactly what Mags is thinking – she's an old lady, past her prime, while Annie is still young, with her whole life ahead of her. Even if I expressly forbid Mags to volunteer for Annie, she would do it anyway.

"Okay, third option," I say, truly grasping for straws now. "I seduce one of the other female victors and persuade them to take you and Annie's place."

Mags chuckles. "You're good, Finnick, but you aren't that good."

As the weeks count down to Reaping day, I immerse myself in a training regime to make sure I'm as physically fit as possible, in case Heavensbee fails and I end up going into the arena. It's a bit difficult because I can't leave my house – the peacekeepers still have the entire district under house arrest – but my house is big enough that I can actually run laps around it without too much difficulty. I use my shower rod as a pull-up bar, and with a bit of maneuvering I turn my furniture into weights.

It's too risky to contact me again by phone, so Heavensbee has to resort to the old, unmarked package plan. House arrest makes this tricky, because the peacekeepers will notice anyone wandering around when they shouldn't be, but apparently he has friends within the peacekeepers, because about a week before the Reaping I get a package.

_Finnick,_

_Couldn't get you out of it. I'm sorry. But don't give up. I've struck a deal with 13. You'll find out more when you get to Capitol. They're going to help you escape the arena. The Quell isn't about you – it's about Katniss. I'm telling you right now that our priority is keeping Katniss alive. She's the mockingjay. _

_Plutarch_

So they're pinning their hopes on Katniss. Now that I think about, I feel like an idiot for not realizing that these stupid Quell rules will guarantee Katniss a place as a tribute. So that's what Snow meant. He designed this trap for Katniss, and the fact that he could punish me with it as well was just a happy coincidence.

Reaping day is overcast and dismal. The peacekeepers show up at my door promptly at noon, and they insist on escorting me, Mags, and Annie the entire way there. If I had any doubts over whether Snow was planning on rigging the draw, they're dispelled now. The other victors could probably not show up at all, and Snow wouldn't care. Today is about tormenting me, and me alone.

The Reaping is quick and brutal. Pompey does the usual opening spiel, then introduces the mentors – Mikael, of course, and Andromache. I can't contain a guffaw of laughter at this, because Snow didn't even bother pretending to put Mikael or Andromache's names into the reaping bowls. If anyone else notices this, they don't comment. This also means that I'm stuck with Mikael as my mentor, of course, but I don't worry overly much. With Heavensbee on our side, I'm sure he'll be sending me whatever he thinks I need in the arena to get the job done. Which, according to his latest letter, appears to be keeping Katniss Everdeen alive.

Then the reaping bowl is rolled over, and Pompey sticks his pudgy hand into the boys' ball. His voice when he reads my name is somewhat lacking its usual vigor – is it possible that he's become fond of me over the past ten years? More troubling for me is Annie, who hears my name called and, even though I told her to expect this to happen, starts to cry. She calls my name desperately as I climb up on stage, trying vainly to get through the wall of Peacekeepers separating us.

When Pompey pulls Annie's name, she goes into a full blown fit of hysteria. My heart breaks, because I can do nothing but stand there up on stage, watching helplessly as she shrieks and clutches her head and collapses to the ground. Mags quickly hobbles forward and volunteers to take her place, forcing the cameramen to turn their attention away from the screaming girl.

"Thank you," I say under my breath, when Mags shuffles over beside me on the stage, leaning heavily on her walking stick.

Mags ever so discreetly elbows me in the ribs. "I did it for her, you selfish brat."

While Pompey rambles on in a decidedly less than cheery voice about the Games, I give Mags a quick peck on the cheek. "I love you, you crazy old lady," I say fondly.

Mags shots me a wrinkled smile. "You'd better."

When the ceremony winds down, Mags and I are escorted to the Justice building, where we are sent to different rooms and told to wait. Natare comes first, with her burly husband Kevin, and she manages to hold back her tears, for which I'm grateful. After Kevin shakes my hand and solemnly wishes me good luck, Natare wraps her arms around me and whispers, "Come back to me, big brother."

I can't remember the last time she called me that, and it touches the well of emotions I've been fighting so hard the last few weeks to repress. Blinking back tears, I kiss my little sister tenderly on the head. "Stay safe," I entreat.

Natare glances up at Kevin. "We'll do our best. So long as you promise not to do something foolhardy and get yourself killed."

I force a cocky grin. "Hey, I've already won this game once – how hard can it be to do it again?"

This gets me a small smile, and Kevin escorts Natare from the room.

Next up are Mara and Blake, of course, who stick around even shorter than Natare and Kevin did. "Annie is waiting," Mara explains, pressing a kiss to my cheek as she hugs me.

Blake claps me on the back. "Get your fat ass back here in one piece, Odair. If not for us, for Annie."

"I hear you," I sigh, nodding to them both.

"Good luck," Mara says, and they depart as swiftly as they came.

This leaves just Annie. I'm surprised that she came – that breakdown she had during the Reaping must have looked a lot worse than I'd feared. Or maybe she managed to pull herself out of it, so she could say goodbye to me before I head off to my possible doom.

Annie is shaking when she enters the room, and as soon as I've draped my arms around her and pulled her down to the couch, perched on my lap, she falls into another fit. Marvelling that she really did cling to sanity long enough to get in to see me, I stroke her hair and murmur soothing words into her ear until she calms down.

"You're going back into the Hunger Games," she whispers, voice thick with undisguised fear. "Real or not real?"

Vowing once again to rip Snow's vile little heart from his chest for putting Annie through this, I reluctantly say, "Real."

She gives a pained moan and huddles even closer against my chest.

"But remember what I promised you, Annie?" I add seriously.

"You'll marry me," Annie says softly. "And we'll be together forever."

"Do I break my promises?"

She wails again. "No."

"No, I don't," I agree, pulling away and kissing her lightly on the lips. "Annie, my love, I'm coming back for you. I swear it. And don't you dare forget that, alright?"

There's a rapping on the door, the sudden noise nearly making me jump. I'm about to shout for them to go the hell away, when I realize that my visiting hour must be up. Since the peacekeepers are unlikely to wait politely outside the room until I finish with Annie, I quickly set her on her feet. I manage to sneak in one last, fleeting kiss, before the white-clad soldiers burst into the room and forcibly escort Annie out.

"Finnick!" she sobs, reaching out her hand to me as they drag her out of the room.


	51. Part 4: Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Twelve**

"Mags and I do not want or need your assistance as mentors," I tell Andromache and Mikael point blank when we meet up on the train about twenty minutes later. "I would suggest that you keep out of our sight, and stay in the Victor's Spire for the duration of these Games."

Mikael had clearly been intending on doing just that anyway, so he shrugs and wanders off into a different compartment of the train. Andromache, however, looks offended. "I know we've never been friends, Odair, but do you really think I'd screw you over for my own enjoyment?"

I consider her for a long moment. Andromache isn't the nicest person in the world by any means, but I suppose she wouldn't purposely double-cross a fellow victor. She does have scruples, even if they aren't ones I adhere to. "Fine. Sorry. I didn't mean to lump you in with Mikael."

"Anyway, you need me," Andromache huffs. "Who's going to send you gifts?"

I'm assuming that Plutarch – or perhaps Haymitch, since Peeta undoubtedly insisted on going back into the arena with Katniss – will be in charge of my gifts. But Andromache doesn't need to know that. "You really want to mentor us?"

"Of course." There's that offended look again.

"In that case, we accept."

After an eventless train ride, we arrive in Capitol and head straight for bed. Mags and I have both been through the Hunger Games routine so many times that it's hard to remember we're the ones going into the arena this time. Just as I'm about to close my door, though, I remember how Mags used to come and sit by my side as I fell asleep, back in my own Games, and realize that perhaps she would appreciate me doing the same for her.

I knock quietly on her door and enter just as she's climbing into bed. Her cane is propped up neatly beside the pillow. "Hey, Mags," I say, going to sit beside her on the loveseat. "How are you doing?"

Mags reaches out and pats my hand fondly. "You're a sweet boy for asking."

She hasn't exactly answered my question, but I don't press her.

"Any news from Heavensbee?" she croaks.

I shake my head. "If he contacts me, I'll let you know."

Mags suddenly gives me a hard look. "I want to get one thing clear, before we get all wrapped up in the Games. I'm not going to try to stop you from helping me in the arena – I know you will. But if we get into a situation where I simply can't keep up, and you can't help me, then you will abandon me. Do you understand?"

I shake my head instantly. "Not happening. I'm not losing you too, Mags."

"Finnick Odair," she says sternly. "If you cannot help me, then you will leave me behind. I am an old woman, and I've had one hell of a life. But you're just starting yours, and I refuse to let you try and sacrifice yourself for me. Am I making myself clear?"

Her tone reminds me so much of Natare's that I find myself agreeing against my better judgment. "Fine, Mags. But only if there's no other option."

She gives me a gummy smile, then rolls over and promptly falls asleep. I watch her for a moment, marveling how Mags can sleep so easily. Then I curl up on the couch as best I can, close my eyes, and let my weariness lead me to dreamland.

The next morning, I get a message from an avox telling me to go to the Sunset Lounge, the site of my first-ever meeting with Heavensbee. I wonder if it's okay for him to be meeting me like this, now that he's the Head Gamemaker and I'm on Snow's watch list as a rebel. But he seems like a cautious man, so I go along and see what happens.

When I get to the restaurant, my table companion turns out to be a sealed envelope. Inside is a note that says, "Wait about twenty minutes, then go to 1337 Payton Place, Room 93". So Heavensbee does know what he's doing after all. It's a comforting thought.

I knock back a glass of red wine, and then head for the meeting point. It turns out to be a fairly nondescript building – well, it's candy floss pink, but this is Capitol, after all, so such a color scheme is hardly out of the ordinary.

I take the elevator up to the ninth floor, and enter room 93. Inside, Heavensbee is waiting for me, and he hurries over to me and shakes my hand as soon as I shut the door behind me. "I'm glad you could make it," he says, and he actually sounds sincere. Never thought I could say that about someone from Capitol. "I got all the reports about the District 4 uprising. You couldn't have done better. It provided the crucial distraction, and now 11 and 3 are poised on the brink of liberation."

And how many people I love will suffer for it? I wonder, but I don't say it aloud, because Heavensbee has bigger problems than the safety of my loved ones. The upcoming Hunger Games, in which a sizeable chunk of his greatest supporters might die, for instance.

"I'm going to be honest," Heavensbee says, getting right to the point. "Of all the victors in that arena, I trust you the most to see that things go as planned. You're smart, and strong, and determined."

I give him an unimpressed look. "Cut the flattery and tell me what's going on."

Heavensbee takes a deep breath. "Alright. Your fellow victors from 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, and 11 are all in on the plan, to various extents. I've been communicating with most of them secretly – you'll need to tell Mags what's going down. District 13 has lent us a hovercraft, which we are going to use to break you out of the arena. As soon as you're out, the rebellion starts in earnest."

"And how are you going to break us out, exactly?"

Heavensbee winces, because he knows that I'm not going to like what I hear next. And he's right. "I can't tell you the details. No one but me can know the entire picture – for security reasons, you understand."

I sigh. "Yeah, I understand. So what can you tell me?"

"Beetee is in charge of getting you out of the arena. When he explains his plan, it's up to you to make sure it gets done. More important for you, though, is the schedule. We're going to be sending you gifts – bread. The district it originates from will tell you the day we're breaking you out, and the number of rolls the hour."

"Easy enough."

"But," Heavensbee says, holding up his hand. "That's the simple part of your job. Your main duty in that arena is to keep Katniss Everdeen alive. She's the mockingjay, and without her, the rebellion dies." He leans forward, giving me an intense look. "At any cost, Finnick. She must live, no matter what. And you can't tell her that you're trying to protect her, it's too dangerous if the Capitol gets their hands on her."

I grimace. "Did you not watch her Games? Katniss doesn't trust anyone, not even that poor fool Peeta who's in love with her. She's as likely to skewer me as trust me."

Heavensbee shrugs. "Then I guess you have your work cut out for you."

He starts to leave, but I grab his arm. "One thing. When the rebellion starts… you get my family out of District 4. My sister, her husband, my friends Blake and Mara, and Annie Cresta as well. Especially Annie Cresta. Do you understand me?"

Heavensbee nods, and only then do I release him.

I go back to the Training Center – it feels so strange to be the tribute again, not the mentor – and meet up with Germanicus, who, despite my protests, is my stylist. Probably Snow's idea of a joke. I must have really pissed him off.

Germanicus greets me jovially enough as I walk into the room, but when I see the hideous clam outfit he's holding – I would literally be encased in two huge shells with my head poking out between them – I shake my head. "Not to be rude, Germanicus, but if you try to make me wear that monstrosity, I will rip out your spleen with my bare hands and force feed it to you as you lie writhing on the floor in agony."

He blanches. "Now, see here, young man, as your stylist it is my right to—"

Germanicus is used to dealing with scared young teens, not a twenty-four year old man with rapidly developing anger issues. I stalk forward and hoist him up by the lapels. "Make me a different outfit, Germanicus. I won't ask again."

"Fine!" he squeaks, flailing his legs unhappily.

I drop him, turn around, and storm off to find someone to vent to. Johanna is the female tribute for District 7, so I take the elevator up to the seventh floor. She's in her room, being transformed by her idiot stylist into a living tree, like the District 7 tributes have been for the past forty years. "If it weren't for that stupid rule," she grumbles as I slip inside the room.

Her stylist sees me and snaps, "Out!"

I give her my seductive smile. "I think you'll find my company most… pleasurable." I let the words roll off my lips, and the purple-haired woman blushes.

"Maybe a few minutes," she allows.

Seizing her hand, I plant a loud kiss on it, and then go straight to Johanna's side. "Nice outfit," I smirk.

"Shut up," Johanna glowers, raising one of her hands. It is covered with leaves, and she is obviously using all her willpower not to rip her ridiculous tree costume to shreds. "What do you want?"

"I had a chat with a friend of ours," I say nonchalantly. Her eyes light up with interest.

"Yeah, he stopped by to see me as well."

So Johanna is in on the plan. That's good to know, as well as great news for me. Johanna may be a bit… aggressive, but she's good at killing people and staying alive, and I can't think of a better ally to have in the arena.

"You alright?" I ask carefully. Going back into the arena can't be easy on her, especially since her family died as a result of her participation in the Hunger Games.

She snorts. "Stop worrying about me, Odair. I can take care of myself." Johanna glances down at her tree outfit once more. "Naked party after the ceremonies. What do you say?"

I laugh. "Sounds great. Listen, I'm going to go talk to Haymitch. See you later." I kiss her on the cheek, then bolt for the door, well aware that she hates public displays of affection almost as much as she hates President Snow.

Haymitch is up on the roof, staring out at the city with a pensive expression. "Hey," I greet, walking over to him and leaning beside him against the railing. "How are the kids taking it?"

He gives me an exasperated look. "You're not going to like it."

"Lay it on me," I challenge.

"Katniss is completely oblivious to how important she is to the rebellion. I don't know how she manages to be so obtuse, even when she sees people wearing the mockingjay and actively defying Capitol in her name."

"Heavensbee says I need to keep her alive."

Haymitch groans. "I'm aware. Ready for the bad news? Katniss is convinced that Peeta should be the one to make it out of the arena this time around. And she's willing to sacrifice herself to do it."

This surprises me, because I'd thought that her "love" for Peeta was all an act. And I tell Haymitch as much.

"An act?" he muses. "The romance part, yes. But she does care about Peeta – whether that's out of genuine affection, or just her need to get even with him for saving her life the first time around, I can't say. And it's going to make your life difficult."

I think about this for a long moment. "I'm going to have to keep the boy alive too, aren't I?"

Haymitch laughs harshly. "Right in one. If Peeta dies, there's no way Katniss will trust you, which will make keeping her in one piece tricky."

He fills me in on what our little mockingjay has been up to since the victory tour. Since I've been cut off from the world, busy with the rebellion, I'm hearing a lot of it for the first time. Katniss pretending to still be in love with Peeta to keep Snow off their backs. Peeta proposing to Katniss, and her saying yes. A dress-designing contest, months of wedding planning – called off now, thanks to the Games. "Does the kid know that Katniss is playing him?"

"He does," Haymitch says.

"Does he care?"

"Peeta loves her," Haymitch sighs. "More than is healthy, in my opinion. He'll do whatever she asks of him."

"Including entering with her into a sham of a wedding, just to keep Snow off her back?"

"Exactly."

It will be very interesting to meet Katniss in person, this conniving little girl who has somehow become the symbol of our revolution. I head back to Germanicus and get into my new, hastily created outfit – a golden net that's knotted at my groin, covering all the important bits.

"Really?" I demand, fingering the sheer material. "I'm basically naked."

"You wanted a new outfit in an hour," Germanicus scowls. "What did you expect?"

Apparently the people of Panem will be seeing a lot more of Finnick Odair tonight than I was expecting. I don't care all that much, to be honest, but the whole sex symbol thing is getting old. Although, considering I wouldn't be alive today if I weren't so absurdly handsome, I guess I can begrudge the Capitol their little peep show.

I escort Mags down to the ground floor, where Andromache takes over and helps her limp off to our carriage. Mags is at least eighty now, and can barely walk without a cane – how the hell am I going to keep her alive in the arena, as well as Peeta and Katniss? Speaking of Katniss…

She is standing by her chariot, wearing a black unitard and crown. Her face is covered with dark, dramatic makeup that's a far cry from the innocent girl image she was sporting after the Games last year. Which was just plain stupid, let's be honest, because after seeing her in the Games, no one could possibly mistake her for an innocent girl. Not with the blood staining those delicate fingers of hers.

"Hello, Katniss," I say, sidling up to her. I lean against one of the black horses, snag the bag of sugar cubes from its saddle, and pop one in my mouth.

"Hello, Finnick," she returns casually. Katniss' eyes roam over my body – is she checking me out? Or is she really the naïve girl she pretends to be, uncomfortable at being so close to a nearly-naked man? I honestly can't tell, and it's a bit unnerving.

"Want a sugar cube?" I offer, using my seductive voice, although I doubt that seducing her will make her trust me. There isn't really enough time to build up a proper friendship, however, so I use the tools I'm given. "They're supposed to be for the horses, but who cares? They've got years to eat sugar, whereas you and I… well, if we see something sweet, we better grab it quick."

"No thanks," she says. "I'd love to borrow your outfit sometime, though."

I quickly suppress a grin of appreciation. I'd forgotten how fiesty Katniss is. "You're absolutely terrifying me in that getup. What happened to the pretty little-girl dresses?"

Something flickers in her eyes. "I outgrew them."

I bet you did, I think. Reaching out, I run my fingers along her collar. "It's too bad about this Quell thing. You could have made out like a bandit in the Capitol. Jewels, money, anything you wanted." Does she know about the fate of the more attractive victors? Because if she doesn't, she's going to have a hard time believing I'm anything more than a pretty face.

"I don't like jewels, and I have more money than I need. What do you spend all yours on, anyway, Finnick?"

Rescuing my beloved from the clutches of an insane gladiatorial death match, thanks for asking. "Oh, I haven't dealt in anything as common as money for years."

"Then how do they pay you for the pleasure of your company?"

"With secrets," I say softly. That should get her attention. "What about you, girl on fire? Do you have any secrets worth my time?"

She blushes. Interesting. "No, I'm an open book. Everybody seems to know my secrets before I know them myself."

Like the fact that she's the mouthpiece of our rebellion. Or that she thinks she's in control of her own life, when this couldn't be further from the truth. "Unfortunately, I think that's true." I see Peeta approaching from the corner of my eye. "Peeta is coming. Sorry you have to cancel your wedding. I know how devastating that must be for you."

As I suspected, the only emotion that registers in her eyes is dispassion at my sarcastic wedding comment. At least Snow only made me whore around – I can't imagine what I would have done if he'd tried to make me marry someone against my will. For some reason, the fact that Katniss is willing to do such a thing for her family suddenly makes me like her a whole lot more. I nod to her, pop in another sugar cube, and head back to my chariot.

The chariots roll out, and I keep a tight grip on Mags, because she's unsteady enough as it is on solid ground, let alone on a moving chariot. It's like my life has rewound ten years – people scream, women shout declarations of love, and I'm almost deafened by the sound of applause. But one thing is different – Katniss and Peeta. Their brilliant, glowing costumes make them look like dark, powerful, supernatural beings, and the crowd balks when they pass by, because they don't know what to make of them.

I promised Johanna a naked party, so I hop off the chariot as soon as we roll back into the tower, leaving Mags in Andromache's care. I head for the seventh floor to await Johanna's return. It galls me to abandon Mags, but she assures me that she's just going to go to straight to bed. She was so full of life and energy when I first met her that it's jarring to realize that old age is finally catching her up.

Johanna flounces into the room a few minutes later, wearing only forest-green slippers. I arch an eyebrow at that. "Did the naked party start early? You might have warned me."

"I ran into our savior," Johanna smirks, referring no doubt to Katniss. "She's… pure. Ignorant. Makes me want to tear her throat out."

"Relax," I advise her. "We need Katniss, remember?"

"She's just so… aloof. Thinks she's better than everyone else, that her life is so hard." Johanna collapses on one of the couches with a huff. "I'd like to see how she'd act if Snow murdered her entire family."

"That's what we're fighting for," I remind Johanna patiently, sitting down next to her. I carefully wrap my arm around her bare shoulder, and after a very long pause, she rests her head against my shoulder. "So that no one else has to suffer, like we did."

"Haymitch told me about Peeta Mellark," Johanna says darkly. "Now we have to keep two sniveling brats alive?"

"It certainly seems that way," I sigh.


	52. Part 4: Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Thirteen**

Training is a three-day exercise in wasted effort. I do my very best to befriend the shrewish Katniss, but she seems incapable of trusting anyone but Peeta. In his defense, he's doing his best to make friends, and I come away from our stint at the daggers station with a great impression of the kid. He seems to be an honestly good person. Keeping him alive will be a pain, but I'm not nearly as annoyed by the concept as I used to be.

Katniss, though… Every time I approach her, she regards me with this thinly veiled look of disdain. It doesn't hurt my feelings that she dislikes me, of course, but since the entire plan hinges around me allying with her, it does provide a bit of a setback. I bring it up with Haymitch, and he promises me that he'll talk to her. Whatever he said doesn't seem to have any effect, however. Katniss continues to ignore me.

Instead of allying with me, she spends her time with people that no sane tribute would consider proper allies – Beetee and Wiress, the morphlings from 6… even Mags. Johanna, who has never liked Beetee and Wiress for some reason, nicknames them Nuts and Volts, and the name sticks. And yet Katniss seems intent on allying herself with the people least equipped to keep her alive in the arena. To say that this is frustrating would be a massive understatement.

Then she goes and makes a spectacle of herself by blowing everyone away with an archery demonstration. Every tribute in the room turns and gapes as she fires shot after perfectly aimed shot into little flying targets, the bow an extension of herself. It certainly impresses everyone, but now the victors not working towards her survival – namely those from 1 and 2 – will be even more intent on killing her than before. Still, it gives me an excuse to offer her an hour of trident lessons in exchange for archery lessons. I figure that the more time I spend with her, the better chance I'll have of worming my way into her iron-clad heart.

When the Gamemakers' evaluation comes around, I spend all of five minutes considering how I'll impress them this time around, before I realize that I don't actually have to impress them at all. Since Heavensbee will take care of any gifts he thinks I'll need, I don't have to worry about attracting potential sponsors with a high training score. Although now that I think about it, all my Capitol lovers probably started throwing money at Andromache the instant they found out I would be in the Games again.

So when my name is called, I walk into the training room and ignore the weapons entirely. Instead, I face the gamemakers, cross my arms, and drawl, "Let's be honest. I'm one of the most promising victors, hands down. I'm strong, and smart, and I could eviscerate just about anyone with a trident. Not to mention that I'm almost unbelievably good-looking. Even if I wowed you all with my amazing physical prowess, it would only be reaffirming what you already know. So how about you just assign me a 10, which I clearly deserve, and we call this a day. What do you say?"

Heavensbee isn't quite able to hide the amused twitch of his lips from me. "We will take your words into consideration, Mister Odair. Off you go."

I sketch the Gamemakers an elaborate bow, and saunter from the room.

Mags is next, so I wait for her to emerge. They wheel her out twenty minutes later on a gurney – apparently she just walked into the room, curled up on the floor, and fell asleep. As Mags is wheeled past me, slumbering like a baby, I slap my hand over my mouth so my laughter doesn't wake her up.

Scores come up that night. Cashmere, Gloss, Brutus, Enobaria and I all pull high marks. I guess the Gamemakers liked my speech, because they gave me a 10 like I suggested. Then Katniss and Peeta's scores show, and they both get 12s.

"I wonder what they did," Mags murmurs, having awoken from her nap by this point.

I think of what I know about Katniss. "Probably something unnecessarily provocative and anti-establishment," I shrug. "Come on, Mags, let's get you to bed."

"I've got all of the afterlife to sleep," Mags disagrees. "Let's talk instead. I want to know everything."

I realize that perhaps I have been ignoring Mags lately, in favor of Annie, but more particularly the rebellion. Feeling abruptly ashamed of neglecting her, I stay up with Mags until four in the morning, telling her everything there is to know about my life; my relationship with Annie, my worries about my sister, my fears that I won't do well enough in the arena, that Katniss will die despite my best efforts, and that the failure will be on my head. In return Mags nods, and reassures me, and it feels like having my mother back alive once more.

Andromache calls me in for my interview prep the next morning. "I'd rather not," I tell her. "It's potentially my last day as a free man. I'd like to spend it doing something I enjoy. Which, no offense, does not involve you lecturing me on proper interview techniques."

"At least listen to what I have to say, before you make snap judgments," Andromache scolds. She withdraws a yellowed piece of paper from her pocket. "I… I know about the real reason you have so many lovers in Capitol," she says awkwardly. "And although no one has ever said anything, I know that things aren't right in Panem. Our government… isn't doing right by us. And even though I might be too afraid to say anything myself, I thought that this might help you… make a statement."

I take the slip of paper. There is a mushy love poem written on it. I understand immediately where she's going with this. My greatest power has always been my influence over people, and with this poem… it's nothing spectacular, but if I were to read it at my interview, address it to my one true love… it definitely won't stop the Games, but it should plant the seed of discontent amongst at least the female Capitol citizens. There are at least a hundred very influential women in love with me in this city, after all – I doubt any of them are particularly thrilled that Snow is throwing me to the wolves, and this poem will help them see that if they haven't come to that conclusion already.

Mags and I head down to the interview room, Mags using my arm in lieu of her cane. I get a sinking feeling that she won't be coming out of this arena alive, rescue or no rescue. She's simply too frail to last. I don't want to consider the eventuality that she might die, but all evidence points in that direction.

We reach the other tributes, who are gathered offstage and chatting softly. Leaving Mags in Chaff's large, drunk, but otherwise capable hands, I slide over to Johanna, who is fidgeting with her interview dress. "Well?"

"Stupid dress," Johanna says, cursing loudly. She tugs on the bow on her waist too hard, and it rips away with a loud tearing noise. "Shit!"

"No harm done," I assure her, rearranging the ribbon so that the tear isn't too visible. "Stop picking at it!"

"Would you rather I punch you in the face?" Johanna says evenly.

"Why does it have to be one or the other?" I sigh. "Relax, Johanna. You know the plan. We're going to get through this."

There's a worryingly haunted look in her eyes, but before I can express my concern, Katniss arrives, wearing the wedding dress that Capitol voted on and picked out for her. The wedding dress that is a symbol of the Capitol's heartless and unceasing attempts to dominate every aspect of our lives, even something as sacred and private as marriage. "I can't believe Cinna put you in that thing," I say, because although I haven't met him, I know he's part of the rebellion, and and he would never do something like this without very good cause.

"He didn't have a choice," Katniss retorts defensively. "President Snow made him."

"Well, you look ridiculous," Cashmere snaps. I can't tell if she understands what's really going on here, or if she's just jealous that Katniss is wearing such a beautiful dress. Albeit a dress symbolizing Snow's determination to remind us all that we are merely pawns in a game that he made, runs, and determines the ending of. For now.

Then Johanna does something that surprises me. She starts to follow the other tributes as they file onstage, but pauses by Katniss and straightens the girl's pearl necklace. "Make him pay for it, okay?" she says. I catch the confused look on Katniss' face as I walk past her.

Despite the fact that Cashmere and Gloss aren't part of the rebellion, they unknowingly echo my plan to guilt Capitol with our imminent deaths. Cashmere goes on about how much Capitol will suffer when all the victors are gone. Gloss monologues about how kind everyone has been to him, how he wishes things were different. Both siblings were popular among the Capitol citizenry, participants in Snow's little prostitution game, and their words hit home.

When it's my turn, I saunter casually to centre-stage, every inch the sex symbol that Capitol loves. Caesar Flickerman and I exchange a few meaningless comments, and then I ask to read out a poem that I have written for my one true love in Capitol, the only lady that I have ever really cared for.

"So one of our fair ladies has captured your heart, eh, Finnick?" Caesar jokes. "By all means, let's hear it!"

_How do I love thee? Let me count the ways._

_I love thee to the depth and breadth and height_

_My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight_

_For the ends of Being and ideal Grace._

_I love thee with the passion put to use_

_In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith._

_I love thee with a love I seemed to lose_

_With my lost saints, -I love thee with the breath,_

_Smiles, tears, of all my life! -and, if God choose,_

_I shall but love thee better after death._

The poem that Andromache gave me has obviously been ripped out of a very old book, because the page is crinkled and yellowed with age. At the end of the poem is a name – Elizabeth Barrett Browning. I have no idea who she is, or why a book with her poetry would survive hundreds of years and end up in Andromache's possession, but I'm thankful for it, because about a hundred women in the audience faint as I recite it, and several hundred more burst into tears.

By the time Katniss walks up to take her interview, the crowd is nearing a riot. By the time she starts spinning, and her dress explodes into flames and burns up to reveal a mockingjay gown, I can't help but think that in Snow's attempts to quash the rebellion, he is only serving to strengthen it more than we ever could have on our own.

Then Peeta takes the stage, and announces that not only did he and Katniss secretly marry back in District 12 before the Quell, she is pregnant with his child. Do I believe it for a second? Of course not. But Capitol does, and they start shouting and moaning after a few seconds of shocked silence. The audience loses control, and eventually Caesar gives up and signals for the Anthem to roll out and the show to end.

But right before that, before they cut the cameras, all the tributes join hands and stand united against Snow and all he represents. Not that we won't all turn on each other the minute we're released into the arena, of course, but none of us are thinking that right now. We're thinking, you're trying to get rid of us, Snow, we perpetual thorns in your side, but we refuse to go down without a fight. Maybe we can even take you with us.

I take Mags back to our quarters and help her into bed. I'm prepared to stay with her as long as she wants, but she waves me off and says that all she really wants is to get a good night's rest. "I love you, Finnick, my son," she murmurs softly, and I press a kiss to her forehead.

"Love you too, Mags," I whisper, and ease out of the room as silently as I can.

Haymitch is waiting for me in the common room. He's not alone, though. Andromache is standing in front of him, blocking him from entering any further into the fourth floor suite, eyeing him suspiciously. "It's alright, he's a friend," I tell her.

"He's a drunkard," Andromache sneers.

I tilt my head towards my room, and Haymitch obligingly skirts the scowling Andromache and disappears inside. "Go to bed," I suggest to her. "Big day tomorrow." Andromache gives an annoyed huff and stalks off to her room.

When I close my bedroom door behind me and stroll into my room, I see that Haymitch is rooting through my various… prizes. I sold off all my lovers' trinkets on the black market to pay for Annie's earthquake, but that was five years ago, and I've amassed quite a fortune since then. "You should invest this," Haymitch says. "Does you no good sitting here."

"I like to be surrounded by pretty things," I quip, giving him a saucy wink. "Why do you think I keep you around?"

"I thought all this stuff was at your room in the Victor's Spire," Haymitch says, ignoring me.

"It was," I agree. "But Heavensbee had it moved here. As soon as I go into the arena, he's going to seize it and use it for… well, whatever he needs."

Haymitch roots around in his pocket for a second, and pulls out a golden bangle patterned with flames. "Here. You'll need to wear this tomorrow."

I take the bangle and examine it. "Ah, Haymitch, you shouldn't have. You don't need gifts to prove your love."

"Shut it," Haymitch snarls. "Katniss decided that she doesn't want allies, genius that she is."

"And this will convince her otherwise?"

He shrugs. "Maybe. At the very least, it will stop her from putting an arrow through your head long enough for you to make your case."

"If Katniss Everdeen kills me, I'm going to be very put out," I tell him sternly.

"What do you want from me?" Haymitch sighs. "I can't control her. No one can. That's why she's so special. That's why she's the mockingjay. And we need to keep her alive. Together. Can you do that?"

I snap the bangle around my wrist, annoyed that Haymitch would dare to question my commitment to the rebellion. "You know I can."

Haymitch nods. "Then good luck. You'll need it."

I laugh harshly. "I just need Katniss to not kill me. If I can pull that off, then the war's already won."


	53. Part 5: Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

Part Five: Paralyzed

**Chapter One**

The 75th Hunger Games arena is warm and colorful. At the center of a huge, salt-water lake stands the cornucopia, and all we tributes are arranged around it in a circle, trapped on individual little floating golden disc islands. When I say trapped, of course, I mean everyone who can't swim, because this arena seems to have been designed with me in mind. Actually, considering that Heavensbee is the Head Gamemaker, it's entirely possible that this is the case.

Waiting for the required sixty seconds to expire before the tributes are allowed to leave their platforms, I scan the area to see who is where. The only competitors I'm really concerned about are Cashmere, Gloss, Brutus, and Enobaria, and I can't see any of them – they must be on the other side of the cornucopia. That bodes well for me, because I can sure as hell swim faster than them, which means I'm going to get my pick of the bounty at the cornucopia before they're even halfway across the lake.

As soon as the gong sounds, I execute a flawless dive off my platform and head for the cornucopia. The salt water is a welcome reminder of home, but I notice that I'm floating more than is normal. I discover the culprit as I near land – the shiny purple belt at my waist is obviously some sort of flotation device. Not that I need it, but I guess if any of the other tributes brave the water, they'll find their lives considerably less difficult.

Going for the cornucopia is risky business, of course, but I'm counting on the fact that most of the tributes won't be able to swim, which should down the danger level considerably. Actually, once I grab what I need, I may have to get some for Katniss and Peeta as well, because I highly doubt that they would have had a chance to learn how to swim in District 12.

The items piled up beside the cornucopia seem to be all weapons, however, so I grab several tridents and shove them through my belt. I heft one in my hand as my main weapon, then spot a golden net piled beneath a spiky mace, and grab that as well. When I turn around, I see that Katniss apparently does know how to swim, because she's standing a few yards away from me with an arrow pointed at my head.

Here's the magic moment. I have to say the right thing, or else she will kill me where I stand. And I do mean kill, because there's no way I could dodge that arrow. Oh, I could probably take her out with my trident, bring her down with me, but that would kind of defeat the purpose. I smile, and say pleasantly, "You can swim, too. Where did you learn that in District Twelve?"

"We have a big bathtub," she responds cagily, hunter's eyes sizing up their target. Keep talking, I tell myself.

"You must. You like the arena?"

"Not particularly. But you should. They must have built it especially for you." She sounds bitter.

I flash her my most non-threatening grin. "Lucky thing we're allies, right?"

The heavy weight of the bangle at my wrist reminds me that I didn't come in here empty handed. I purposely shift the bangle so the sunlight reflects off it, catching Katniss' keen eyes. I see something shift in her gaze, and then she snaps, "Right!"

Does she trust me? Not a chance in hell. But she's not killing me, for the moment, and I can live with that. Past Katniss, I can see Gloss pulling himself inexpertly through the water – he must have figured out the flotation belt. Then Zachariah, a drunken lout from District 5 that I've had drinks with a few times, lurches up behind Katniss with a sickle. "Duck!" I shout, and as soon as Katniss hits the sand, I let fly with my trident. Zachariah collapses to the ground, and I stride forward to dislodge the trident from his chest with a sickening slurp.

Gloss is still at least fifty yards away, but he's gotten to the sand, and he'll be a problem in a few minutes if we're not careful. "Don't trust One and Two," I warn Katniss. She arches her eyebrow, giving me an are-you-kidding look. I remember that, aside from Peeta, she doesn't trust anyone.

We split up to search for anything useful among the small mountain of weapons, but there's nothing. Then I see that Brutus is lumbering toward us, using his belt as a shield. I consider engaging, but I've spotted Peeta now, trapped on his disk, and Cashmere, Gloss, and Enobaria are grouping up nearby. "Do something about that, would you?" I ask Katniss politely.

Her shot is deflected by the belt, but Brutus takes the hint and throws himself into the water to prevent her from getting another clear shot. "Let's clear out," she suggests.

I'm about to mention Peeta when Katniss spots him. Apparently his bathtub wasn't as big as Katniss'. When Katniss starts pulling knives from her belt, obviously preparing to go get Peeta, I bite back a sigh of annoyance. The girl can swim, no doubt about that, but being out in the open like that will make her both defenseless and an easy target. Best not to risk her life when I can easily get her "husband" myself.

"I'll get him," I tell her, placing my hand on her shoulder as I step past.

"I can," Katniss says, because she refuses to listen to good sense when she hears it.

What, does she think I'm going to kill the kid? Her inability to trust continues to amaze me. To allay her suspicions, I drop all my tridents to the ground. "Better not to exert yourself. Not in your condition." I pat her stomach for emphasis. If logic can't keep her out of harm's way, maybe a reminder of her nonexistent baby will clue her in. Panem's still watching, after all.

When she doesn't immediately protest, I say, "Cover me," and head for Peeta. The water streams easily past my fingers, and even though I'm in the middle of the Hunger Games, I can't help but take a few seconds to enjoy the sensation. When I reach the edge of Peeta's disk, he's watching me uncertainly. "I'm not here to kill you," I tell him.

"Of course you aren't," Peeta says. "You would have just thrown a trident at me. Of course, Katniss would have killed you for it, so maybe you're smarter than you look."

I quickly change my game plan, because Peeta is much brighter than I gave him credit for. "Katniss is the Mockingjay," I tell Peeta frankly. "She gives the people hope. I intend to keep her alive." I flash the bangle at him to back up my words.

Peeta sizes me up. "So do I," he finally says, and I know that I won't have to watch my back around him anymore. His "wife", however, is a different story.

"Can you swim?"

"Obviously not, or I wouldn't still be stuck out here," Peeta says.

Since I'm still floating in the water beside him, I say, "Jump in." Peeta slides off his disc, and I wrap an arm across his chest, using the other to maneuver us back toward land. "What do you think of the arena?" I ask as we swim. Or rather, I swim and drag Peeta along like a sack of freshly-caught fish.

I can't see Peeta's face, since his back is to me, but something about his tone of voice makes me think he's smiling. "It's pretty."

This makes me smile, too. "I guess it is."

When we reach the sand, I propel Peeta into Katniss' waiting arms, then clamber up onto the sandy shelf myself. "Hello again," Peeta says, kissing Katniss. "We've got allies."

Katniss shoots me a poorly-disguised look of annoyance. "Yes. Just as Haymitch intended."

Suck it up, I think uncharitably. I'm on your side, even if you don't know it yet.

Peeta glances to the side. I follow his line of sight, and see that Mags is swimming towards us. "Remind me, did we make deals with anyone else?"

"Only Mags, I think," Katniss says.

"Well, I can't leave Mags behind," I say. "She's one of the few people who actually likes me."

"I've got no problem with Mags," Katniss says, almost defensively. "Especially now that I see the arena. Her fishhooks are probably our best chance of getting a meal."

"Katniss wanted her on the first day," Peeta says, again with the defensive tone. Although, since they could have no way of knowing the history between me and Mags, I guess I can't fault them for assuming I wouldn't want an old woman as an ally.

"Katniss has remarkably good judgment," I say. Maybe that will keep them off my case for a few minutes.

When Mags paddles up to us, I reach down and scoop her out of the water. "Like the arena?" she whispers in my ear. Laughing in the middle of the Hunger Games initial bloodbath is probably a faux pas, so I wink at her instead. "The belts make you bob in the water," Mags adds, gesturing to her belt. "Probably to level the playing field for those of us not blessed enough to have been born in District 4."

I expect Katniss and Peeta to respond, but they just stare at Mags in puzzlement. Remembering that not everyone can understand the dear old lady like I do, I say for their benefit, "Look, she's right. Someone figured it out." I've spotted Beetee, who's floating along towards the cornucopia three spokes over.

"What?" Katniss blinks.

"The belts. They're flotation devices. I mean, you have to propel yourself, but they'll keep you from drowning."

Katniss glances at Beetee, who is about twenty yards away now, just reaching the sand. "We should probably move on," she says. I consider going to fetch the old inventor, but then I see Johanna closing in. She'll take care of him. The twin axes in her hands are already slick with blood.

Mags wrestles an awl away from Katniss, and clamps it between her gums for safekeeping. She holds out her arms toward me, so I toss the golden net over my shoulder and hoist Mags up on my back. There's no way she'll be able to keep up with us by herself. Katniss and Peeta are already on the move, running along the sand spokes, so I grab my tridents and follow after them.

We trek through the jungle, Mags getting wearier and wearier as we go. I find myself mentally cursing Snow once again for the crap he's putting us through. Sending an eighty-year-old woman into the Hunger Games? I bet even the Capitol citizens can't find that much fun to watch. The humidity of the jungle isn't doing us any favors, either – it lets the seawater evaporate easily enough, but it's not so good with sweat.

Katniss forcefully suggests I walk behind Peeta, who takes the lead. Whether this is because she wants to keep an eye on me, or because she realizes I won't be much help fighting with an eighty-year-old woman on my back, I don't know. After about an hour of climbing up the seemingly endless hill, Mags mumbles, "Break time, dear. My bones are aching."

I could use a breather as well, so I suggest a break. As Mags, Peeta, and Katniss rest, I roll my shoulders and un-cramp my muscles beneath the blue bodysuit. I see Katniss eying me, but like always that look of lust that I find in most women's eyes is missing – she's evaluating me as a threat, not a potential lover.

Katniss elects to climb a tree and get the lay of the land, so I wait with Peeta and Mags while she scales one of the smooth-barked trees. She's up there a long time, which doesn't bother me so much, until Peeta comments idly, "Maybe she's watching the bloodbath."

This instantly sets me on alert. Katniss and mass slaughter will not end well. "Do you trust me?" I demand of Peeta.

He tilts his blonde head. "I suppose," he says after a long moment of thought.

"Does Katniss?"

No hesitation this time. "No." He looks worried.

I nod sharply, and let my hand stray to one of my tridents. I already know very well that Katniss doesn't trust me, and coupled with what Haymitch has told me… When Katniss was in the arena last time, she shot first and asked questions later. If she decides that I'm only using her, and will turn on her the second I get the chance, I don't doubt for a second that she might just decide to cut her losses and off me right now.

Sure enough, when she drops back out of the tree, she's got the look of a cornered wild animal. No question about it – she's planning on killing me. She just hasn't decided on the when yet. I should probably keep playing it cool, but her superiority complex and inability to trust anyone but her precious Peeta is starting to really piss me off.

"What's going on down there, Katniss?" I drawl. "Have they all joined hands? Taken a vow of nonviolence? Tossed the weapons in the sea in defiance of the Capitol?"

"No," she says.

"No," I snap. "Because whatever happened in the past is in the past. And no one in this arena was a victor by chance. Except maybe Peeta." Since befriending her didn't work, I'm trying a different tact. Staring her dead in the eyes, I project my most threatening persona. That's right, I think. Forgot everyone in here is a trained killer, didn't you, sweet little Katniss? Including me. Especially me. So maybe you should think twice before deciding to try and kill me.

Peeta, who is apparently quite good at sensing tension, steps between us. "So how many are dead?"

Katniss glowers at him. Charming girl. "Hard to say. At least six, I think. And they're still fighting."

"Let's keep moving. We need water."

That's actually a good point. "Better find some soon," I say. "We need to be undercover when the others come hunting us tonight."

Katniss is staring at me in that calculating way again. It unnerves me that a seventeen-year-old girl is able to contemplate killing a human being as easily as Natare contemplates which sauce to put on her pasta. I mean, I killed people at fourteen, but I was nowhere near as cold and ruthless as Katniss is. It's not necessarily a bad thing – in fact, it's a very good thing to be in the arena – but seeing such dispassion on a young, beautiful face doesn't sit right with me. Then she looks away, and starts walking off up the path.

I haul Mags up onto my back, and trudge after my companions. Mags leans forward and says, "You know she's probably going to try and kill you in your sleep, yes?"

"Don't remind me," I groan. "If we make it out of this alive, remind me to punch Plutarch right in his stupid, cosmetically-altered face for making me put up with that girl."

Mags cackles softly in my ear.


	54. Part 5: Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Two**

After another hour of trekking, we reach the end of the tree line. "Maybe we'll have better luck on the other side," Katniss suggests. "Find a spring or something."

Peeta, who's leading the way, has his knife out to slash away the vines hanging in our path. All of a sudden, Katniss shrieks, "Watch out!"

A zapping noise impacts the air, and Peeta flies backward into me, knocking Mags and I to the ground. I roll the blonde boy off of me as Mags scrambles away from us. Before I can figure out what happened, Katniss is at Peeta's side, running her fingers over his lips, pressing her head to his chest.

It's immediately apparent to me that Peeta must have run into one of the Capitol's invisible force fields, because his chest isn't moving – what else but electrical shock would stop his heart? I don't waste a second. If Peeta dies, Katniss will be impossible to deal with. Not to mention that I'm starting to quite like the kid.

After helping Mags lean against a tree, I hurry to Peeta and shove Katniss out of the way. Katniss immediately begins screaming hysterically. "Let me," I snap.

As I begin to administer CPR, Katniss tries to stop me. "No!" she shouts, doing an admirable job of getting in my way. She probably has no idea what I'm doing – maybe she thinks I'm killing him – but I don't really care, so I thrust a hand out and hit her in the chest, shoving her back into a nearby tree.

With a great deal of effort, I get Peeta's heart going again. The effects of the force field shock are very similar to drowning victims back home in District 4. CPR is one of the first things we learn in school, because it's almost guaranteed that we'll have to use it at some point in our lives. And they were right – barely a year after that, Natare got her legs tangled in one of the fishing nets, and I barely got to her in time to save her life before she drowned.

Peeta finally, thankfully, coughs back to life. But as I step back to give the kid some breathing room, Katniss rushes forward, obviously beside herself with worry. It's more than that, though. The expression on her face is love, pure and simple.

"Peeta?" she says tenderly. I didn't think she was capable of such emotion.

"Careful," Peeta says. "There's a force field up ahead."

As they banter back and forth, I rock back on my heels, lost in thought. I don't know what to make of this sudden reversal in Katniss' character, because I was sure that her relationship with Peeta was completely one-sided. That she was just using him to keep herself and her family alive. Sure, she's obviously his friend – why else would she insist on keeping him alive? – but I hadn't realized it was more than that.

She not only loves him, she's in love with him. My entire perspective on the fiery District 12 girl changes abruptly, because now I can relate to her. I understand what it's like, fighting so hard to save the people you care about. And if Katniss Everdeen understands as well… maybe we have more in common than I thought.

"It's all right, Katniss," Peeta says, because Katniss is crying. "Katniss?"

Now this is interesting. I didn't think the ice queen was capable of crying. Although, considering what I now know about her and Peeta, I suppose it isn't so impossible to believe after all.

Panem is still watching, however. "It's okay," I say. "It's just her hormones. From the baby."

"No, it's not—" Katniss protests, and then starts weeping again. I shake my head, not quite able to believe that I misjudged her so badly. I'm usually such an excellent judge of character. In my defense, Katniss is one hell of an actress.

Peeta is looking better – his face is decidedly less pale than a few minutes ago – so I say, "How are you? Do you think you can move?"

"No, he has to rest," Katniss says stubbornly. She's still sniffling, so Mags grabs some hanging moss from a nearby tree and gives it to her to use as a handkerchief. Then she wobbles over to me.

"Well done," she murmurs.

I shrug. "Just doing my job."

Mags kisses me softly on the head. "Well, you did it marvelously."

Katniss obviously has no idea how to regard me anymore. I guess this little incident has been eye opening for more than just me. She keeps shooting me annoyed looks, and I'm pretty sure why. Now that I've saved her boyfriend's life, she owes me. Which means that she can't exactly kill me off in my sleep like she was undoubtedly planning.

We hang around for another ten minutes or so, until Peeta feels well enough to continue. "I'll take the lead," Katniss says.

Peeta starts to object, but I cut him off. "No, let her do it." A sudden thought occurs to me. "You knew that force field was there, didn't you? Right at the last second? You started to give a warning. How did you know?"

People like Beetee and Wiress, who've been working with electronics and force fields and all sorts of technological stuff for decades, might have been able to spot a force field. I can't fathom how Katniss did.

Katniss' eyes get guarded again, and I know immediately that she's lying to me. I can read that much about her, although apparently the intricacies of her romantic life are much better at eluding me. Not much point in calling her out on it, though, so I just nod along as she spins her lie. "I don't know. It's almost as if I could hear it. Listen."

"I don't hear anything," Peeta says.

"Yes," she insists. "It's like when the fence around District 12 is on, only much, much quieter. There! Can't you hear it? It's coming from right where Peeta got shocked."

"I don't hear it either," I say. "But if you do, by all means, take the lead."

"That's weird," she says. "I can only hear it out of my left ear."

"The one the doctors reconstructed?" Peeta asks.

"Yeah," she says, shrugging nonchalantly. "Maybe they did a better job than they thought. You know, sometimes I do hear funny things on that side. Things you wouldn't ordinarily think have a sound. Like insect wings. Or snow hitting the ground."

The surgeons accidentally giving her super-hearing? Seems unlikely, but it should piss off Snow that his precious Capitol stooges might have unwittingly given Katniss a secret weapon. Which, I realize, is probably what she's going for. The girl just keeps getting more and more interesting.

I take the rear, although we pause pretty quickly when I realize that neither Peeta nor Mags is up for making this trek without help. So I find some reasonably long branches and fashion crude canes for them.

After a while Mags gets hungry, and grabs one of the nuts that Katniss has been chucking at the force field to see where it is. She peels it open and pops it in her mouth. Katniss, being Katniss, immediately overreacts. "Mags! Spit that out. It could be poisonous." Because somehow, in her mind, a seventeen year old girl is wiser than an eighty year old woman. Mags chortles at her words and swallows the nut.

Katniss looks to me, like I'm Mags' keeper or something. "I guess we'll find out," I say, laughing. Mags knows what she's doing, and the sooner Katniss figures that out, the better.

During the rest of our hike, Katniss keeps shooting me puzzled looks. That's fine by me. I'd prefer her trying to understand me over deciding how and when to kill me.

Water eventually becomes a problem, not to mention the weariness from hiking all day, so we decide to stop and rest for the night. Katniss elects to go hunt down some water, which none of us are particularly pleased about, but if I insist on keeping her in my sight, I doubt it will endear me to her.

While she's gone, Mags and I construct a crude shelter and some woven bowls while Peeta recuperates. He leans against a tree and tries to look like the walk didn't nearly do him in. To get his mind off his brush with death, I talk to him while I set about weaving the grass walls of our little hut.

"So," I say casually. "When did you figure out you were in love with the Mockingjay?"

Peeta smiles faintly. "Didn't you watch the interviews? We're star-crossed lovers. I've been head over heels for her for years. The Hunger Games… have a way of changing your priorities."

"Oh, I'm aware of that," I say, tying off the strand I'm working on and picking up another long blade of grass. "Amazing, isn't it, how she fell in love with you, even though you were both in a competition that should only have allowed one survivor? Now that's what I call a miracle."

I'm being sarcastic, of course, and Peeta picks up on it immediately. In another world, I think we could have been great friends. "I'm just happy when she smiles at me," Peeta admits. "Her actually loving me back… it's more than I could possibly dream."

I eye him closely – does he realize that Katniss actually does love him back? But no, from the sad look in his eyes, I think he's resigned himself to the fact that Katniss is too stubborn and independent to ever love him quite the way he loves her. "Sometimes people have feelings, but they just don't recognize them for what they are," I offer.

Peeta shoots me a small smile. "You're a decent guy, Finnick."

"I don't know why you sound so surprised," I grumble. This prompts a laugh, and I see Mags smiling softly out of the corner of my eye.

Katniss returns without water, although she has managed to catch a rodent of some sort. Peeta comes up with the notion of cooking the meat via poking small chunks of it at the force field, which makes them crispy but well-cooked. We enjoy a meal of fried rodent and nuts, and Katniss actually restrains herself to only a handful of snippy comments. Since animals mean water, I grill her on where she found the creature, but she has no solid answers.

Evening announcements arrive, and Claudius Templesmith booms out the names of the fallen. I know all of them, although the only ones I really feel sorrow for are the male morphling from 6 and Cecelia. The morphling just because he reminded me of a child, and Cecelia because she has a family waiting for her back home. Yet another reason to hate Snow and his oppressive regime. Although, assuming I can get Katniss out of this arena alive, his downfall might be happening a lot sooner than I could have hoped.

Right after the announcements, a silver parachute floats down towards us.

"Whose is it, do you think?" Katniss asks, after we all stare at it for a good minute.

"No telling," I shrug. "Why don't we let Peeta claim it, since he died today?" I share a look with Mags. It'll be from whoever in the rebellion is in charge of sending us gifts – probably Haymitch, considering his uncanny understanding of Katniss' twisted mind.

Inside is a little metal spout the likes of which I've never seen in my life. Considering the thing we need most is water, I assume it has to be something to do with obtaining water, but beyond that I draw a blank. Living by the sea, water has never exactly been hard to come by, so the instruments of acquiring it are a mystery to me.

"A spile!" Katniss shouts.

"What?" I blink.

"It's a spile. Sort of like a faucet. You put it in a tree and sap comes out." Somehow it doesn't surprise me that Katniss is the one to figure it out – since Haymitch is probably in charge of gifts, it makes sense that she would be the first to understand.

With some effort we drive the spile into a tree trunk, and soon enough water flows down the metal pipe. The water is warm, but in my dehydrated state it tastes sweeter than the finest wine.

I offer to take first watch, and I do so for the next few hours while my companions sleep. But they are awoken abruptly when a bell suddenly tolls loudly. Is this some kind of message from Plutarch? I listen carefully, and count out twelve tolls. A sleepy Katniss confirms my count, although she doesn't know what it means any more than I do.

We wait, in case Templesmith decides to tell us what the bell signifies, but when a few minutes pass without an announcement, Katniss says wearily, "Go to sleep, Finnick. It's my turn to watch, anyway."

I'm reluctant to fall asleep – what if she talks herself into killing me while I'm sleeping? – but my exhaustion eventually convinces me to shut my eyes for a few minutes. After pausing to rearrange Mags' moss blanket, I curl up and drift away.


	55. Part 5: Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Three**

It seems like I've only just fallen asleep when Katniss shrieks, "Run! Run!"

Bolting awake, I grab my trident and rise to my feet, ready to skewer whoever Katniss is telling us to flee from. It quickly becomes obvious that no one is attacking us, however. And then I notice the wall of fog coming towards us, the advance droplets eating into my skin like acid.

"Shit," I mutter. Without a second thought, I grab Mags, who is still sleeping, hoist her up on my back, and bolt for the trees. I have no particularly destination in mind – just away from the fog. I should probably hang back and make sure Katniss is okay, but I'm hoping she can do something as simple as run away without my supervision.

Mags is awake now, and I gasp out the situation to her as I run. "Definitely poisonous," Mags rasps. "I can feel it seeping into my pores." She pauses. "We are losing Katniss and Peeta."

Pausing in mid-stride, I wheel around to see what Mags is talking about. Katniss and Peeta are hurrying after us, but Peeta is still recovering from his encounter with the force field, and Katniss quite clearly refuses to abandon him. Since I can't exactly carry Katniss and Peeta as well, I settle for shouting encouraging words, hoping that my voice will serve as a guide for them.

"The gas is targeting our nerves," Mags observes, eerily calm. "They are not going to make it."

"Of course they aren't," I groan. My limbs are already growing weak, and if I'm having problems, I can't imagine what's happening to Peeta. There's no way he can keep running at this pace – even without the poisonous gas attacking his muscles, he couldn't do it.

"We need to help them," Mags says.

I try to think of an alternate solution, since the last thing I want to do is go back towards the fog when I can already feel my limbs starting to spasm. "Damn it all," I curse, turning and heading back for them. Seeing Peeta stumbling along beside Katniss, I grab his arm and try to help drag him along. "It's no good," I sigh. "I'll have to carry him. Can you take Mags?"

"Yes," Katniss says.

I hoist Peeta up and start to head for the lake at a diagonal. My arms twitch wildly, and I can tell they'll stop working soon, so I hand my trident to Peeta to carry. But Katniss isn't muscular like me, and she can't handle both carrying Mags and outrunning the gas. I don't blame her, and I know that Mags doesn't either – it's just the way things are.

"It's no use," Katniss calls reluctantly. "Can you take them both? Go on ahead, I'll catch up."

Mags' eyes meet mine, and suddenly I'm remembering our conversation before the Games. When she made me promise that I would leave her behind if there was no other way. With my arms limp at my sides, I can't carry her and Peeta. And if I don't bring Peeta, Katniss will never trust me, and then she will die and the rebellion will fail. "No," I say, fighting to keep the pain out of my voice and the tears out of my eyes. "I can't carry them both. My arms aren't working."

I lock gazes with Mags. My old mentor is smiling softly. "I'm sorry, Mags," I say helplessly, hating myself. "I can't do it."

She nods with understanding, not a hint of regret in her eyes. Mags shuffles up to me, kisses me, and whispers, "I love you, son." Then she limps off into the fog. I look away, unable to watch as my mentor and surrogate mother dies before my eyes. Because I wasn't strong enough to save her.

No, I think firmly, forcing myself to turn and continue my retreat from the fog. Not your fault. Snow's fault. Mags knew what she was getting into, and so did I. This isn't about us. It's about Snow and the Capitol. I try to believe the words, but they don't stop my heart from feeling as if it's been ripped in half and chewed on by a shark.

"I'm sorry," Peeta whispers in my ear as I head for the lake, trying to outrun Mags' death cries. I can't think up a response that properly conveys the grief I am feeling at this moment, so I don't say anything at all. As I race through the forest, it isn't trees I pass. Rather it's memories – Mags offering me a bowl of sugar cubes, Mags curled up on my loveseat during my Games, Mags knitting in her lace-covered sitting room...

When I reach the beach, I collapse, unable to move another step. Peeta tumbles off my back and sprawls beside me, face contorted by the nerve-eating gas. I'm sure that I look no better, not that I give a great goddamn at the moment. Katniss appears a moment later, and falls down beside me.

The wall of fog continues to approach, but I can't summon the strength to move. Surprisingly, it's not the fear of death I feel – rather, it's disappointment, because I swore to protect Katniss, and now it looks like all three of us are going to die in one fell swoop. Plutarch is going to be displeased.

But the fog stops, pressing up against an invisible barrier mere meters from us.

"It's stopped," Katniss croaks. "It's stopped."

Peeta mumbles something about monkeys, although I'm so far gone from the combined pain of the poisonous gas and Mags' death that I'm surprised I'm able to crawl after Katniss and Peeta as they struggle towards the salt-water lake. What they could hope to accomplish by reaching the lake I have no idea, and I honestly don't care. My vision is filled with memories of Mags. I don't even have the energy to summon forth tears.

I lie on the beach, my limbs spasming as the poisonous gas continues to eat away at my nerves. I think I can hear splashing. Somehow, it doesn't seem important.

Some part of my mind registers that Peeta and Katniss have returned when, a few minutes later, I feel water being poured onto me. The salt water at first hurts more than the gas itself, although I can do nothing more than lie there and moan.

"We've got to get more of him in the water," someone says – Katniss? They drag me to the water and gradually submerge me. Apparently salt water drives away the toxins, because the further into the water they pull me, the more aware I feel.

I've more-or-less regained my cognitive functions by the time Peeta says, "There's just your head left, Finnick. That's the worst part, but you'll feel much better after, if you can bear it." They shove my head under the water, and it feels like someone poured acid into my eyes, ears, nose, and mouth.

But Peeta's right. After the dunking, I do feel significantly more clear-headed. Peeta heads off to find water, leaving Katniss to look after me. The water feels heavenly against my skin, and I start to swim slowly away from the beach. The water's embrace is no substitute for Mags' presence, but it reminds me of home. It's enough to lighten my dark mood, and I give myself over to the feeling, twisting and leaping and diving through the waters.

"Don't do that!" Katniss complains from the safety of the beach.

Pushing my sopping wet bronze hair out of my face, I peer at her in confusion. "What? Come up or stay under?"

"Either. Neither. Whatever," she babbles. "Just soak in the water and behave. Or, if you feel this good, let's go help Peeta."

She has a point. Our blonde companion shouldn't be left alone – none of us should be, actually. Not in the condition we're in right now. So I pull myself out of the water and follow Katniss back into the woods. The poisonous gas that cost Mags her life is nowhere to be seen. Realizing that Mags' death is distracting me – and being distracted in the Hunger Games rarely ends well – I lock my grief away with great effort. There will be time later to mourn.

Peeta has the spile wedged deep in a tree trunk when Katniss and I find him. He's also completely surrounded by monkeys, hanging above his head in the trees. This wouldn't usually worry me, except that this is the arena, and these monkeys are probably carnivorous. Sure enough, Katniss has her bow drawn and ready.

The monkeys attack without warning. They're fast little monsters – "Mutts," Katniss screams – and I'm hard pressed to keep them at bay with my trident. They leap at us like furry flying fish, and it takes all of us to stay alive through the assault, even Peeta with only his knife and grim determination to keep his lady love alive. We form a defensive triangle, facing down the monkey attack on all sides and just barely holding our own.

Then a monkey leaps straight for Peeta. Katniss, out of arrows, throws a knife at it, but she misses. I'm busy skewering another monkey with my trident, so I have to watch helplessly as Katniss throws herself at Peeta, knocking him to the ground. The monkey descends towards her, pointy little teeth bared in a feral grin.

I try to call out to Katniss, but the words stick in my throat when something completely unbelievable happens. The female morphling from District 6 appears out of nowhere,. leaps in front of the monkey, and grabs it. She gives an ear-splitting death shriek as the monkey sinks its fangs into her instead.

Peeta immediately jumps forward, sinking his knife into the vicious little creature. "Come on, then! Come on!" he shouts, shaking his knife at the forest in general. Not sure that antagonizing the monkeys is the best idea, I'm about to say something when the monkeys suddenly cease their attack and scamper away into the trees.

"Get her," Katniss pants at Peeta, pointing to the morphling woman. "We'll cover you."

I'm not so sure that he needs covering anymore, but I keep my trident raised nevertheless. Katniss and I follow Peeta as he carries the gasping woman back to the sandy beach. Apparently trusting me to keep watch – wonder of wonders, the girl is actually capable of trust – Katniss kneels down beside the morphling and assesses her wounds. Now, I'm no healer, but even I can tell that the District 6 woman isn't going to make it.

"I'll watch the trees," I declare.

As Katniss and Peeta lean over the dying woman, Peeta saying something in soft, soothing tones, I head back into the woods, distancing myself from the emotional scene. I've already used up all my sorrow on Mags – I have none to spare for the morphling. Even thinking about Mags makes my throat constrict, so I push her face from my mind and focus on wrenching Katniss' arrows out of the monkey corpses, imagining President Snow's face on each furry little body.

By the time I return to the beach, the morphling woman is gone, and Katniss and Peeta are sitting on the sand side by side, staring out at the moonlit water. "Thought you might want these," I say, tossing the bloody arrows down beside her. She washes them silently, then heads off towards the jungle with the professed intention of gathering some moss to dry them.

She disappears into the woods, and Peeta and I sit in silence. I'm startled when I feel his hand fall comfortingly on my shoulder. "I'm truly sorry about Mags," Peeta says quietly, his eyes solemn and earnest. "I know that she died because of me."

I give a short laugh at that. "If you believe that, then you're a fool."

Peeta considers this for a moment, then nods. "You're right. There is only one person to blame for her death, and he isn't sitting on this beach."

"No. But how I wish he was."

"Indeed," Peeta mutters.

Katniss rejoins us, scratching idly at her scab-covered skin. I can only imagine how horrible I must look, not that I particularly care at the moment. Suddenly realizing how itchy I feel, I begin to scratch, as does Peeta, until Katniss thrusts her hands away from her body. "Don't scratch," she says somewhat hypocritically. "You'll only bring infection. Think it's safe to try the water again?"

We return to the spile that Peeta stuck into one of the trees, and after a few minutes of effort we produce a clear stream of drinking water. When we return to the beach, Katniss announces that she'll take first watch. I agree with this for all of two seconds before Mags' face flashes across my vision, and I realize that I won't be getting any sleep anyway.

"No, Katniss, I'd rather," I say. I can feel the tears coming, and pray that for once Katniss will not argue with me.

And to my relief, she quietly acquiesces. While they slumber, I force myself to keep busy, gathering some of the tall grasses from the forest and weaving them into baskets for food and water, and a mat to shelter us from the sunlight. After that, I wade out into the lake and dive under the water, discovering an abundance of shellfish which I proceed to collect and haul back onto land.

It's only once I sit down beside Katniss and Peeta, having finally run out of things to do, that the tears begin to flow freely.


	56. Part 5: Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Four**

Katniss awakens after a few hours, and while enjoying the breakfast I've prepared, she suddenly glares up at the sky. "Hey Haymitch, if you're not too drunk, we could use a little something for our skin." Peeta slumbers on obliviously.

I bite back a laugh as a silver parachute floats down seconds later. Sometimes I wonder if Haymitch tortures the girl for a specific purpose, or simply for his own twisted amusement. I want to be charitable and assume the former, but more and more I'm suspecting the latter.

Katniss begins to slather the medicine onto her skin, turning a gray-green color that isn't at all becoming. When she tosses the tube of lotion to me, I eye her skeptically. "It's like you're decomposing," I say. But considering my near-insanity-inducing level of itchiness, coupled with the way she was moaning as she put the medicine on her own skin, I decide to give in and mar my perfect features for the sake of not feeling like there are millions of tiny insects crawling all over my skin.

"Poor Finnick," Katniss smirks. "Is this the first time in your life you haven't looked pretty?"

"It must be. The sensation's completely new. How have you managed it all these years?"

"Just avoid mirrors," she suggests. "You'll forget about it."

She's one to talk, covered in oozing green scabs and looking like some sort of swamp witch. "Not if I keep looking at you," I say.

Katniss decides to wake Peeta up, but I have a better idea. "Let's do it together," I say. "Put our faces right in front of his."

At first I wonder if she's even capable of having fun, but after a moment she grins and agrees. We hover over Peeta, and Katniss sings, "Peeta. Peeta, wake up." The blonde boy's eyes open, he spots our green-stained faces, and screams wildly.

Katniss and I take one look at each other, then collapse on the sand, laughing hysterically. Peeta attempts to maintain a disdainful expression, as if our childish antics are completely beneath him, which only makes us laugh harder. All of a sudden I'm five again, rolling around on the ground laughing with Natare when our father discovered that we had dyed his special Reaping Day shirt a bright pink. It feels so good to laugh, and I think Katniss feels the same, because we carry on laughing until a silver parachute floats down beside us.

I immediately sober, aware that this could be a message from Plutarch. Sure enough, the gift is a loaf of bread from District 4. But I remember Plutarch's instructions – the district that the bread comes from indicates the day we'll be rescued, and the number of rolls the hour. At first I think that this must mean we're going to be rescued on the fourth day at 1 am, but this seems unlikely. It's a bit early to be planning anything, especially when we haven't even caught up with Beetee yet, who is integral to the escape plan. Eventually I conclude that it must simply be another message from Haymitch to Katniss – since I'm District 4, it's probably something along the lines of "Trust Finnick".

We eat the bread with some shellfish, then spend the next few hours on the beach, figuring that it will be much safer than anything we might encounter in the forest. After a while, a huge wave comes roaring down a wedge-shaped section of the forest, and birds shriek out of the trees, flapping around wildly in the air. A gong sounds, indicating that someone was caught in the mini-tsunami.

Then Katniss spots three figures stumbling along the beach, and we retreat into the forest to observe them. Their skin is bright red, one is dragging another, and the third staggers around in aimless circles. Not exactly the threat we were expecting.

"Who is that?" Peeta asks. "Or what? Muttations?"

I have no answer for this, until the one being dragged collapses, and the dragger shouts in frustration and shoves the crazy circling one into the sand. There's only one person I know in these Games with such a violent temper and short fuse, yet still willing to ally with others. "Johanna!" I set off at a sprint for the beach.

"Finnick!" Johanna calls when she spots me, literally sagging in relief. As I come up beside her, she shoots a contemptuous look at her two red-skinned companions, now both sprawled in the sand. "I swear to God, Plutarch gave me this stupid mission just to spite me. Keep Volts alive? I know trees with more common sense than this idiot, and they don't even have brains!"

"It's good to see you too," I grin. But this is no time for fond reunions. "What happened to you?"

Johanna eyes my skin. "I could ask you the same question, pretty-boy. Although I guess I can't really call you that now."

"Funny. Says tomato girl." My voice lowers. "Beetee got the wire?"

Johanna nods. "We're all set. Or we were, of course. We went straight for the forest, figured it was safer. Then the sky went red. We thought it was rain, you know, because of the lightning, and we were all so thirsty. But when it started coming down, it turned out to be blood. Thick, hot blood. You couldn't see, you couldn't speak without getting a mouthful. We just staggered around, trying to get out of it. That's when Blight hit the force field."

Blight is Johanna's District-mate. She doesn't give a damn about him, but I see Katniss and Peeta nearing us, so I say, "I'm sorry, Johanna." I figure Katniss is more likely to trust Johanna if she doesn't think Johanna is as emotionless as I once took Katniss to be.

Johanna gives me an odd look. "Yeah, well, he wasn't much, but he was from home. And he left me alone with these two." Beetee, barely conscious on the sand, gets an annoyed look from her. "He got a knife in the back at the Cornucopia. And her..." Johanna trails off in disgust, staring at Wiress.

"Tick tock, tick tock," Wiress says, getting to her feet and staggering around in circles again.

"Yeah, we know," Johanna snarls. "Tick tock, Nuts is in shock. Just stay down, will you?" She shoves Wiress towards the beach. Knowing Johanna's short fuse, it amazes me that she hasn't resorted to hitting the older woman yet.

Katniss takes a step forward. "Lay off her."

I wince. This will end well. Sure enough, Johanna rounds on Katniss, brown eyes blazing. "Lay off her?" She slaps Katniss full across the face. "Who do you think got them out of that bleeding jungle for you? You—"

Katniss has that look in her eye, like she's about to pull out her bow and start shooting. Not to mention Johanna isn't that great at keeping her mouth shut, and could easily let slip Plutarch's plan if she gets worked up enough. So I grab Johanna around the waist, toss her over my shoulder, and haul her down to the lake. As Johanna screams and hits my back with her fists, I flip her into the water and dunk her.

"Let go of me, you son of a whore!" Johanna shouts, flailing as she tries to avoid me. But I'm much stronger, and I grab her and dunk her again. This is partially to get that horrible layer of blood off of her, but mostly I hope the shock of being submerged will snap her out of her latest psychotic break. "That bitch makes me risk my life for those useless wastes of air, and all she can say to me is lay off? I'll lay her off!"

"What does that even mean?" I sigh, grabbing her and dunking her a third time.

"It means I'll take my ax and split open her skull like a chestnut!"

"Chestnuts are a bit small for axes," I advise her. "A hammer would probably work better. Maybe a chisel."

Johanna stops me before I can dunk her a fourth time. "At least let me get out of these horrible clothes," she snaps, pushing my hands away.

I arch my eyebrow. "Naked party in the middle of the Hunger Games? Scandalous."

"Only if you join me," she says, grinning. Well, the watchers at home probably weren't expecting a strip tease from Finnick Odair, but it looks like they're going to get one. Anything to calm Johanna down. And, bizarrely, one of the few things that always relaxes her is a naked party.

I pull off my suit, careful not to rub my peeling skin, and by the time I'm done I see that Johanna has already clambered out of her suit. She floats up on her back, utterly unconcerned that she's giving the cameras an unhindered view of her most private regions. Ah, what the hell. You only live once. I float up on my back to join her.

"Good job with Beetee," I say, staring up at the fluffy clouds high overhead. "Thanks to you, we're one step closer to..." I trail off, since talking about the rebellion and our escape plan isn't exactly a smart idea when there could be cameras listening in. "You know. Winning."

Johanna flips over and swims right up to me. Draping her arms around my neck, she comes real close and murmurs, "Why have we never slept together, Odair?"

I give an easy laugh. "Because you hate physical contact of all kinds? Because I'm in love with someone else? Because you don't _want _to sleep with me?"

She scowls, crossing her arms over her chest. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Sunset Ball, two years ago," I say. "You dumped a rice pudding on my head, and said, 'I wouldn't sleep with you if you were the last person alive.' Which, now that I think about it, seems somewhat self-evident, as if I were the last living person, you would be dead, negating any chances of us consummating our friendship."

Johanna eyes my nose for a long moment, possibly contemplating biting it, then slides away. "You suck at naked parties, Odair. They're supposed to be fun. You're no fun anymore."

"When we get through this, we'll have the most obscene naked party in the history of Panem," I promise her. "It will be so lewd that even the Capitol will be shocked."

She pokes my chest with a long, thin finger. "It had better be."

We return to our little camp, where Katniss has stripped and patched up the wounds of Beetee. She tries to convince a raving Wiress to eat some shellfish while I bring Johanna up to date on our side of the story.

After our meal, Katniss and Johanna take the opportunity to argue about who's going to stand watch while the rest of us take a nap. They eventually decide to both stay up. Katniss because she's fully rested and doesn't trust Johanna, and Johanna because... well, because she mostly just enjoys irritating people. And, as I'm quickly discovering, few things annoy Katniss more than Johanna.

Shaking my head at my companions, I sink down to the sand and force myself to sleep.


	57. Part 5: Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Five**

Katniss wakes us up raving about clocks. While I sweep the sleep from my exhausted mind, Katniss explains that Wiress isn't insane – she's saying "Tick Tock" because the arena is based on the design of a giant clock. The arena is split into twelve wedges, and on each hour or half hour, something horrible happens in the corresponding wedge.

We decide to break camp and head somewhere safer than the killer monkey wedge. Beetee and Wiress are both fairly out of it, and when Peeta – who's regained some of his strength by now – tries to help him stand, the old inventor says, "Wire."

I glance at Johanna, not sure what he means. In response, Johanna picks up a spool of wire and huffs, "Oh, I know what he wants. This worthless thing. It's some kind of wire or something. That's how he got cut. Running up to the Cornucopia to get this. I don't know what kind of weapon it's supposed to be. I guess you could pull off a piece and use it as a garrote or something. But really, can you imagine Beetee garroting somebody?"

But from the way Beetee is staring at the wire as if it's the most precious thing in the world, I get the feeling he's planning a bit more with it than a garrote. And since he's apparently integral to our escape plan, I decide to proceed under the assumption that Beetee and his wire should not be separated.

"He won his Games with wire. Setting up that electrical trap," Peeta says. "It's the best weapon he could have."

Peeta's words confirm it. Whatever Beetee's supposed to be doing to get us out of here, it's going to involve the wire somehow.

"Seems like you'd have figured that out," Katniss adds. "Since you nicknamed him Volts and all."

"Yeah, that was really stupid of me," Johanna says acidly. "I guess I must have been distracted by keeping your little friends alive. While you were... what, again? Getting Mags killed off?"

I freeze at the mention of Mags, giving Katniss ample opportunity to antagonize Johanna even further. Her fingers tighten on the hilt of her knife, which prompts Johanna to snarl, "Go ahead. Try it. I don't care if you are knocked up, I'll rip out your throat."

Johanna isn't kidding, and Katniss appears to realize this. As she sizes up her opponent, probably calculating the best way to eviscerate Johanna before the girl can sink her teeth into her throat, I quickly step between the territorial women. "Maybe we all had better be careful where we step," I say, shoving the spool of wire at Beetee. "There's your wire, Volts. Watch where you plug it."

I suggest that we head to the cornucopia, so we can get a clear view of all the wedges and figure out the dangers of each from a safe distance. Katniss shrugs and agrees, so we set off towards the gleaming horn of plenty.

As we balance precariously along one of the spokes of sand, I drop to the back to walk behind Johanna, who is still scowling and sulking. Leaning forward, I whisper, "Way to antagonize the girl we're supposed to be protecting."

"She's a spoiled little brat," Johanna hisses. "She acts like she's better than us when she doesn't know a damn thing about us. About anything."

"That isn't her fault," I reprimand. "She's a victim here, same as us. So be nice."

"I'll be nice when she gets off her pedestal and admits she's just as flawed as the rest of us."

I glance at Katniss, straight-backed and proud despite the trials she's gone through. "She doesn't strike me as the type to pretend to be less than she is," I reflect. "That girl is going to lead the revolution, Johanna, and there's a reason for that. So _lay off_."

I'm probably the only person who can speak to Johanna like that without her trying to decapitate them. Still, she bares her canines at me as she snarls, "Fine."

We approach the cornucopia cautiously, fearing that some of the other tributes might have had the same idea that we did. Or, if they weren't as smart, perhaps they might have just decided to come back and get more weapons. But there's no one in sight, so Katniss, Johanna and I range out to poke around the weapons while Peeta, Wiress and Beetee converse.

I see Katniss glancing at Johanna from time to time, quite obviously sizing her up. I wish I could just explain to her what was going on, that we have an escape plan, that none of us need fight each other, but that would sort of tip our hand. Instead, I keep an eye on the girls, ready to intercede if Johanna loses her head and tries something ill-advised. As I do so, I pick my way through the small mountain of weapons and pull out some more tridents and knives to replenish my lost arsenal.

We return to our companions, where Peeta is mapping out the arena clock in the sand. Wiress is a few meters away, singing a crazy little song that I've never heard before. We talk about the layout of the arena for a few minutes, when Katniss suddenly freezes.

I'm facing Katniss, and I spot Gloss lunge out of the water and slit Wiress' throat just as Katniss spins and lets fly an arrow. Gloss falls, the blade piercing his temple, and then the battle is on.

Cashmere comes round the side of the cornucopia, and Johanna heaves an ax into her chest. As she goes down with a gurgle of surprise, Brutus hefts a spear towards Peeta. To his left, Enobaria sends a throwing knife at me. I knock aside the spear in order to preserve a shell-shocked Peeta's life, but this necessitates taking Enobaria's knife in my thigh.

As I hiss in pain and turn to give chase to Brutus and Enobaria, the sandy disc under the cornucopia suddenly begins to spin rapidly. Staggering, I quickly fall to the ground and hang on for dear life as the ground rotates beneath me.

When the cornucopia slams to a halt, I immediately wrench the thin knife from my leg. Blood spurts out, but before I can bandage the wound, Johanna says, "Where's Volts?"

I look around wildly. Volts is about twenty meters out in the water, bobbing in the waves, so I abandon my bandaging attempts and dive in after him. The sea water seeping into my wound hurts like... well, it hurts like when you get salt water in a gaping wound. As I wrap my arm around Beetee and drag him back to land, I see Katniss dive in after Wiress. I'm about to shout to her that the she's already dead and gone, when I realize that Katniss is actually after Beetee's spool of wire. My respect for her goes up another notch.

We reconvene on the beach, where I strip off my undershirt to bandage up my wound. I can imagine the women of Capitol sighing at my exposed chest. Assuming they managed to survive their paroxysms of delight after my naked party earlier.

After a brief lesson in logic from Beetee, we realize that it's impossible to tell which way the arena's clock is now facing – the spinning cornucopia and the uniformity of the forest prevents us from being able to tell which direction we're facing. We end up choosing a random direction and decide to reorient ourselves once we see one of the more impressive hourly phenomena – the wave, perhaps, or the blood rain.

I head into the forest to get us some water, and Katniss elects to go with me. That old mistrust is back in her eyes, which makes me bite back a sigh. I can feel her eyes on my back as I dig a hole into the tough bark of the tree. I wonder if she's contemplating putting an arrow through my chest. It wouldn't surprise me, considering her truly impressive trust issues.

"Katniss, got that spile?"

She starts to pull it from her belt, then pauses when the ear-splitting cry of a little girl shatters through the trees. It's unnerving, certainly, but Katniss' reaction completely throws me. She drops the spile and bolts off into the thick of the forest, as if following the sound.

"Katniss!" I shout, abandoning my task and tearing after her. "Get back here!"

"Prim!" she shouts hysterically. "Prim!"

I try to keep up, but she's far lighter and faster than me. Within moments she disappears into the trees. Knowing that there could be some horrible danger awaiting her, I have no choice but to follow her, as she in turn follows the girl's screams.

When I burst into the clearing where she's stopped, I see that she's pulling an arrow out of a jabberjay. "It's okay," she babbles. "I'm okay. I thought I heard my sister, but..."

Just a jabberjay. One of Capitol's genetically engineered birds that can perfectly mimic human speech. No wonder the screams sounded so realistic, as the Gamemakers obviously wouldn't have brought Katniss' little sister into the arena itself. But then I'm hit with a terrible thought. How did they record those screams? I know they have voice modulators in Capitol, but somehow I wouldn't put it past Snow to do something like kidnap Katniss' sister and torture her for his own sick amusement.

Seeing Katniss' ashen face, I decide not to tell her that this might be exactly what Snow has done. She's worried enough as it is. But then a new scream rips through the air, a voice instantly recognizable to me.

Annie.

Some rational part of me knows that it's just a jabberjay, pretending to be her, but if Snow really did torture Annie to record those screams... Before I know what's happening, I'm sprinting towards the jabberjay, crashing through the bushes like an ox on a rampage. I know that I should be more careful, that chasing after the jabberjay will accomplish nothing, but hearing Annie's screams... it's more than I can handle.

The screams keep going, and all rational thought flees my mind. All I can think about is Annie, imagining her chained up in Snow's mansion while his torturers inflict all sort of unimaginable torments on her. I shout her name over and over, circling the tree where the jabberjay is perched, unable to reach it, unable to stop it from shrieking Annie's screams of pain at me.

Katniss comes up behind me, loosing an arrow that drops the jabberjay to the ground, mercifully shutting it up. "It's alright, Finnick," she says soothingly. "It's just a jabberjay. They're playing a trick on us. It's not real. It's not your... Annie."

"No, it's not Annie," I snap, turning on her with wild eyes. "But the voice was hers. Jabberjays mimic what they hear. Where did they get those screams, Katniss?"

I hadn't meant to frighten her, but I'm lost by now in my own terror.

"Oh, Finnick, you don't think they..."

"Yes, I do. That's exactly what I think."

A new voice starts up, a male voice. Katniss starts to run after it, but now that Annie's screams have stopped, I'm able to somewhat regain my scattered wits. Grabbing her arm, I say, "No, it's not him. We're getting out of here! It's not him, Katniss, it's a mutt! Come _on_!" I drag her back down the hill, trying and failing to block out the screams.

We near the edge of the forest, and I see that our companions are waiting for us. I wonder why they aren't trying to come to us, until I run face first into a transparent wall. The impact breaks my nose, sending blood gushing down my face.

Then it starts. Dozens of jabberjays flock into our invisible cage, and their screams are deafening. Not only Annie, but Natare, Mara, Blake... I see Katniss reaching for her arrows, but I know it's no good. I curl up into a ball, press my hands against my ears, and pray for the torment to stop. Their cries wash over me, drowning me in pain and guilt.

When the torture finally stops, I only notice because Johanna hugs me. This extremely uncharacteristic display of affection from her tells me how worried she was. She kneels beside me, stroking my hair and whispering that it will be alright.

Over by a fallen Katniss, Peeta is telling her that Snow never tortured her sister, or any of her friends. "It was a trick," he says.

Katniss turns to me with pleading eyes. "Do you believe it, Finnick?"

Now that the shrieks of all the people I love aren't filling my ears, it's a lot easier to think rationally. "It could be true," I say. I turn hopefully to Beetee. "Could they do that, Beetee? Take someone's regular voice and make it..."

Beetee assures me that it's very possible.

"Of course Peeta's right," Johanna drawls. "The whole country adores Katniss' little sister. If they really killed her like this, they'd probably have an uprising on their hands." Then she throws her head skywards and shouts, "Don't want that, do they? Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn't want anything like that!"

As Katniss and Peeta gape at Johanna, she gets up and walks towards the forest. "Don't go in there," Katniss protests. "The birds..."

Johanna smiles bitterly. "They can't hurt me. I'm not like the rest of you. There's no one left I love."


	58. Part 5: Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Six**

That evening, we get a silver parachute straight from Haymitch. Inside are two dozen rolls from District Three. Now that we have Beetee and Johanna with us, I'm confident these rolls are a message from Plutarch. I count them carefully to make sure. "Twenty-four," I say. Beetee, Johanna and I exchange a meaningful look. Our rescue time is midnight on the third day.

We go down to the beach to make camp, figuring that, according to the mechanics of the arena clock, we should be safe for a good twelve hours in our current position. I clean up my broken nose, mopping up the excess blood. Then, exhausted, I sink into sleep while Katniss and Peeta keep watch. But my dreams are troubled, filled with horrible images of Annie being tortured in the sterile underbelly of the Capitol while Snow watches and laughs.

We get more rolls the next morning – the same as the night before. I can only imagine that it's Haymitch confirming the time and day. Maybe we didn't give enough of an indication last night that we understood the message? Regardless, we split up the rolls and eat them.

After breakfast, Johanna takes a nap while Katniss and Peeta go out into the lake. Katniss claims that she's teaching Peeta how to swim, but they do a lot more splashing than swimming. I weave a net of vines to keep myself occupied, watching Katniss and Peeta out of the corner of my eye. After last night, the pool of tributes is down to eight, and I'm worried that Katniss might try something stupid, like try to take off with Peeta. I can only hope that Peeta believed me when I said I wanted to keep her alive, and will talk her out of whatever foolish thing she's probably planning.

Katniss' voice rings out over the water. "Hey Finnick, come on in! We figured out how to make you pretty again!"

I laugh at that, obediently getting up and wading out into the water. With Katniss and Peeta's help, we scour the scabs from our body and emerge from the waves healthy and pink-skinned. We smear another layer of medicine on ourselves, which gives our skin a green tint, but we look infinitely better without the scabs.

Beetee calls us over and, while fiddling with his wire, explains the plan he has concocted. It's fairly simple, and sounds to me like it should work. Basically, he feels that we haven't seen Brutus and Enobaria on the beach because we're here – therefore, if we leave the beach, they should go onto it. At noon and midnight, the 12 o'clock section of the clock has a tall tree at the rim that gets hit with a bolt of lightning. Beetee wants us to run a wire from the tree down to the lake, so that when the lightning strikes, the charge will carry down the line, electrifying the lake. Since the ten o'clock wave will have made the beach wet, it should also electrify the beach. Where Brutus and Enobaria will probably go, once they realize that we've abandoned it.

Then he explains that he wants to use the lightning strike at midnight – as in, midnight on the third day of the Hunger Games. The exact time Haymitch has told us will be our escape point. Beetee's real plan becomes clear to me. He'll electrify the lake, sure, but he's also going to use that lightning strike to get us out of here. Maybe he can rip a whole in the force field or something, to let the hovercraft of District 13 break in and rescue us.

"And where will we be when this happens?" I ask, just to be sure.

"Far enough up in the jungle to be safe." Beetee looks at me for a long moment, making sure I understand the plan. I give a tiny nod, and he smiles slightly.

But ultimately the decision is Katniss', even though she doesn't know it. If she refuses to go along with it, we can either scrap it and come up with a new one, or knock her out and bring her along against her will. Luckily, she likes the plan.

We spend the morning trekking up the hill to the lightning tree, Peeta and I taking turns carrying Beetee. When I get him on my back, I drop back a few feet behind the rest of the group, rightly sensing that Beetee wants to talk to me. "You understand the plan?" he whispers in my ear.

I nod. "What do I need to do?"

"Keep the girl safe," says Beetee. "And make sure she's near the tree when the lightning strikes, or we'll never find her." By 'we', he means the District 13 rescue team. I know that they'll only have minutes before the Peacekeepers swoop in to contain the situation, so we need to group up and stick together.

We get to the tree around 11 o'clock in the morning, and I guard Beetee while he examines the tree. "This will work," he mutters.

As noon approaches, we head over to the 11 o'clock section of the forest to avoid the lightning strike, then proceed down to the beach. We have twelve hours to kill, so under my direction we gather fish and shellfish and make a sort of seafood feast.

Katniss dives to get us some oysters, and when Peeta begins to pry them open, he finds a pearl. Turning to me, he says, "You know, if you put enough pressures on coal it turns to pearls."

"No, it doesn't," I say. But Katniss starts laughing, and I realize that this must be some sort of inside joke. I watch as Peeta presents the pearl to Katniss, who accepts it with a small smile. Their star-crossed love is too painful for me to watch – it reminds me far too much of Annie – so I turn my attention to arranging our seafood feast.

Haymitch sends us another parachute, again with twenty-four rolls from District 3. I wonder if he's doing this just to annoy me. Resisting the urge to look at the sky and shout, "I _get _it, Haymitch!", I divide up the buns, and they are a delicious addition to our feast. We spend the next few hours stuffing ourselves, and I can't help but think that, if I don't make it out of the arena tonight, then this sure is one hell of a funeral feast.

Around nine we head back to the lightning tree, where I help Beetee run the wire around and around the tree in an intricate pattern that only he is making any sense out of. Once he's done, Beetee reveals the rest of his plan. Katniss and Johanna are to run the wire down to the water. I like this plan, as it should put them out of harm's way during the lightning strike, and they'll be able to return to us quickly enough to catch the rescue hovercraft out. He warns them to get away from the beach so they don't get electrocuted, and to meet us in the 1 o'clock sector. Even if we don't meet up before District 13 arrives, so long as they're somewhere in the vicinity of the lightning tree, the hovercraft should be able to find them.

Neither Johanna nor Peeta are pleased with this plan, but Beetee dismisses their concerns in his usual, logical manner. After a few minutes of arguing, they take off into the trees. I can only hope that Johanna keeps Katniss safe.

Now only Peeta, Beetee and I are left at the tree, and we wait silently as the golden wire is pulled taught against the dark nighttime backdrop, indicating that the girls have the situation well in hand. After a few minutes, Beetee claps his hands suddenly. "Time to prepare ourselves," he says.

Peeta eyes him strangely. "What are you talking about?"

Without a further word, Beetee pulls out a knife and digs it into his arm. I'm about to stop him when I realize that he's cutting the tracker device out of his arm that was inserted just before the Games started. It hadn't occurred to me to remove it, but now that I think about it, the more obvious it seems. Seeing my stare, Beetee adds, "Johanna will take care of Katniss."

Peeta immediately steps towards us, scowling. "Take care of her? What are you planning?"

"Nothing," I assure him, raising my hands in a pacifying manner. "I swore to you that I was trying to help Katniss, remember?"

"Then what's he doing?" Peeta demanded, thrusting an arm at Beetee.

"Taking the tracking chip out of his arm."

Peeta stares at me like he's never seen me before. "Why would he do that?"

"I think you know why."

I pull out my own knife and jab it into my arm, rooting around for the tracker. It hurts like a mother, but I grit my teeth and bear it. The other option would be for Capitol to use it to track us, which isn't exactly a plan I'm comfortable with. As soon as I'm done, I pull out a second blade and hand it to Peeta.

"I don't know if I can do that," Peeta says, gesturing towards my now bleeding arm.

I roll my eyes and step towards him. "Let me, then."

Brutus and Enobaria suddenly crash into the clearing, and my blood runs cold.

Peeta doesn't stand a chance, going down hard when Brutus smashes his fist into the blond boy's head. I doubt he's dead, but he'll be out for a few minutes at least. Beetee shoots me a wide-eyed look, and I know that I have to get them away from Beetee and the tree before they bring the whole plan crashing down on our heads. Before I get the chance, Enobaria flings a knife at Beetee. He manages to dodge, but in the process he trips and slams head-first into a tree trunk.

I let fly with a dagger, and it imbeds into Enobaria's thigh – almost the exact same place she stuck me yesterday. She gives an enraged shout and takes off after me as I dash away into the forest, Brutus abandoning the unconscious Beetee and Peeta to chase after his partner.

I'm not exactly stealthy, but it's the middle of the night, and my skin is camouflaged from the medicine. I angle away from the golden wire, leading Brutus and Enobaria on a merry chase for a few minutes before simply ducking behind a tree. They fly by me, and I wait about twenty seconds to ensure that they haven't doubled back before hurrying back towards the lightning tree.

But then there is a springing sound, and I see a flash of gold shoot past my ear. "What?" I gape, taking longer than I have to put two and two together. It was Beetee's wire, and the only reason it would spring back on itself is if someone cut it or dropped it. Which means that Brutus and Enobaria must have found the girls, as that is the only way I can see Johanna losing control of the wire. This is confirmed when I hear shouting coming from down the hill.

Cursing myself for not leading Brutus and Enobaria further away from Katniss and Johanna, I turn around once again and sprint towards the sounds. By the time I reach the bloody scene of the battle, there's no one in sight. "Johanna! Katniss!" I shout, but no one responds. I search the clearing for clues, and see broken branches – not to mention a fair deal of blood – leading in the direction of the lake.

How did everything go wrong so quickly? I think in frustration, sprinting through the forest towards the lake. Up ahead, I can hear sounds of battle, as well as a voice using such foul language – undoubtedly Johanna – that mothers watching us on TV must be covering their children's ears.

I speed out onto the beach, and see Johanna down by the water, ankle deep in the surf while she grapples with Enobaria. Neither have weapons, except for Enobaria and her surgically altered teeth. Brutus and Chaff – the only other tributes unaccounted for – are nowhere to be seen.

Johanna screams as Enobaria bites into her shoulder, the sharp teeth digging deep into her flesh. She responds with an elbow to Enobaria's gut, and the older woman staggers away to catch her breath and spit out Johanna's skin. Clapping her hand to her shoulder, Johanna turns slightly and spots me approaching. "What are you doing here?" she shrieks at me.

"I'm looking for you and Katniss!"

"Well, she isn't here!" Johanna snaps. "Go find her! I've got this!"

I'm not so sure that she does – her entire shoulder is now coated in blood – but I don't have time to argue with her. If Katniss isn't here, then she's gone back to the lightning tree. This isn't mind-reading on my part, just simple common sense. Peeta is at the lightning tree, therefore that is where Katniss will be.

As I turn to leave, however, Enobaria pulls a hidden knife from her belt and shoves it into Johanna's midsection. Johanna gives a pained gurgle and stares down at her stomach, as if wondering how a knife-hilt came to be sticking out of it.

Enobaria takes off at a run for the treeline. Torn between helping Johanna and following Enobaria, I force myself to run after Enobaria. I can't help Johanna, and Enobaria is headed in the direction of the lightning tree and Katniss. I shout horrible things at Enobaria as I chase her, hoping that she'll stop to deal with me, and thereby giving Beetee, Katniss and Peeta more time, but she ignores me.

We burst into the clearing with the lightning tree, and then everything goes mad.

Katniss is somewhere nearby, because she's shouting for Peeta. He must have left to go find her, because from far away he's shouting back, "Katniss!" Meanwhile Enobaria has come to a stop and is staring furiously around the clearing, trying to spot Katniss, pointy teeth bared like a monkey-wolf muttation moving in for the kill.

Then Katniss appears out of nowhere, holding a bow with an arrow that glints gold in the moonlight. Beetee's wire? Enobaria lets out a shriek of triumph and darts forward. With a surge of adrenaline, I leap forward and tackle her to the ground. We wrestle as Katniss aims her bow up at the force field.

Enobaria fights furiously, but I've got about fifty pounds of muscle on her. Then she pulls out another hidden knife – seriously, how many does she have? - and plants it in my shoulder. Although I've never done such a move before, I've seen enough Hunger Games to guess the physics of it. Just as Katniss releases the arrow from the string, I seize Enobaria's neck in my hands and squeeze.

Up above, the force field explodes.


	59. Part 5: Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Seven**

A wave of static electricity shoots through the air, blasting me off of Enobaria. I hit the ground hard, and at a bad angle – I think my ankle might be broken. And for some reason I can't move – it must be something to do with the force field exploding. It feels kind of the like that ladder they use in the Games, with the electric current that prevents you from moving. Except there's no ladder this time, only paralysis and pain.

Enobaria is a few feet away, as still as I am. I don't know if she's alive or dead, but at the moment I really couldn't care less. All I'm waiting for is some sign that all my sacrifice was for something.

Finally, a hovercraft zooms towards us. At my angle its difficult to see, but from the corner of my eye, I spot a metal claw descend from the hovercraft and curl around Katniss, dragging her limp body up into the belly of the hovercraft. It's hard to tell whether she's unconscious or dead – not that I can do much about it at this point.

Another claw grabs Beetee, dragging him up and – assuming this is the District 13 rescue ship and not Snow come to kill me personally – away to safety. Then the claw grabs me and I'm lifted up into the ship. As I settle down on the hard metal deck, Plutarch Heavensbee's worried face peers down at me. "Johanna?" he asks, slapping a patch onto my arm.

My limbs are still leaden, but now I can apparently talk. "Down by the lake," I reply.

"Peeta?"

There is a rumbling from the other end of the arena. Capitol hovercrafts? "I don't know!" I say helplessly. "I heard him shouting maybe a minute ago. We have to go back for them."

Plutarch considers this for a second, then shakes his head. He looks away, to someone out of my line of sight, and says, "Let's get out of here." Out the corner of my eye, I see a bunch of soldiers crowded around Katniss, lifting her, carrying her off through an unmarked door. Hovering beside her is Haymitch. When he hears Plutarch give the order to leave without Peeta and Johanna, his eyes blaze and his lips tighten. Then Katniss and Haymitch are gone, and I'm alone with Plutarch and his soldiers.

I wish I could move, so that I could grab Plutarch and shake him. "We can't leave without Peeta and Johanna!"

Plutarch shakes his head. "Not the time for dramatics, Finnick. Capitol is coming."

"You bastard," I snarl. "You're basically signing their death warrants."

"Well done out there," Plutarch says, ignoring me completely. "You kept the girl alive. We couldn't have hoped for more." I can feel the hovercraft shuddering, speeding up, moving away from the arena. "The Capitol hovercrafts are almost within shooting distance. We need to get out. Now."

He won't be reasoned with, and there isn't much I can do while paralyzed. I discover that there's a certain comfort in knowing that you've done all you can, and that the rest is out of your hands. So I close my eyes and let the sounds of District 13 crew members running around, and Plutarch shouting orders at them, wash over me.

I wake up what has to be at least a day later in a medical facility. By the way the floor keeps shaking, I'm reasonably certain that I'm still on the hovercraft. I'm lying on a hospital bed of some sort, strapped down to prevent me from injuring myself. That, or to prevent me from injuring others – my head is woozy from painkillers, and I know very well how violent people can get when they aren't in their right minds. I try to remember if I hurt anyone, but as far as I can recall, I just fell asleep and woke up here.

The pain is gone from my body – undoubtedly thanks to the painkillers – although by peering down along the length of my body I can see that my injures haven't healed. My shoulder – where Enobaria stabbed me – is swathed in bandages, as is my thigh. There's a cast on my ankle, which apparently did break during the force field explosion. The rest of my skin is a motley assortment of bruises. At least it isn't green anymore – someone must have washed off the acid-cloud medicine.

By tilting my head, I can see that Katniss is lying next to me. She's strapped down the same as I am, and she looks like... well, like she just went through the Hunger Games. There's a noticeable difference between her straps and mine – mine are soft fabric, while hers are thick and rimmed with metal. If anyone was getting violent recently, it must have been her.

Beetee is across from Katniss – the small room has two rows of beds facing each other – and is hooked up to a truly impressive amount of machinery. I wonder how he ended up so bad. As far as I know, he just hit his head against a tree trunk. But they don't need breathing machines for simple concussions.

I don't want to wake up Katniss or Beetee, but lying strapped down to a table isn't exactly the most comfortable thing in the world. Then I see a button by my hand, and stretch out a finger to press it. Haymitch walks in a moment later, sees me awake, and breaks out into a genuine smile.

"Glad to see you made it, pretty-boy."

As he bends to undo the wrist restraints, I jerk my head towards Katniss. "How's she?"

Haymitch barks a laugh. "How the hell do you think she is? She's completely delusional – keeps attacking us when we try to help her. Doctor ended up tying her down after she ripped her tubes out and tried to punch him in the face."

"Brain damage?"

"Doc says it's a mix of her injuries, a concussion, the painkillers, post traumatic stress disorder, and just Katniss being Katniss." Haymitch shakes his head tiredly. "Girl seems to think we're her enemies. We should have let her in on the plan."

I sit up slowly, Haymitch helping me so that I don't bang around my shoulder. "I thought we couldn't, in case things went wrong."

"As if things could have gone worse," Haymitch grumps. "Peeta taken, Johanna taken..."

"At least Peeta doesn't know anything," I remind him.

"And you really think Snow will spare him just because of that? He's going to torture that boy within an inch of his life, just because he knows it will kill Katniss."

All this talk of torturing loved ones reminds me of something very important. Seizing Haymitch with my uninjured arm, I demand, "What's going on in District 4?"

Haymitch looks away. "Still fighting. Have been since the start of the Games. All the districts have been, except 2. And before you ask, no, I don't know anything about Annie or your family."

"Then who does?"

"Plutarch, but he's locked up in the cockpit right now, coordinating with 13. He'll be hours yet."

I stand up, intending to go to the cockpit and demand answers from Plutarch personally. Unfortunately, I've forgotten that my ankle is broken. I curse loudly as I sink back onto the bed.

"Like I said," Haymitch repeats, arms crossed in a somewhat patronizing fashion, "He's locked up in the cockpit. And even if you can get to him, which I doubt, he's not going to talk to you."

This is disappointing, but again, not much I can do about it. Glancing down at my ankle, I say, "Don't we have medicine to fix this sort of thing?"

Haymitch nods. "You're recovered enough now to take a bone knitter. It's tricky when the patient's unconscious – the meds have some bad side effects."

"Side effects like?"

"Killing you."

I consider this. "Probably a good idea to have waited."

Haymitch snorts at this, and goes over to the wall to a panel set in the wall. He presses a big blue button, and a doctor hurries into the room about fifteen seconds later. "He's awake?" he says, a tall, gaunt man in his fifties.

"Wants a bone knitter," Haymitch grunts.

The doctor grabs a chart from the end of my bed and examines it. "We can risk it. He's stable enough now." He turns to meet my eyes for the first time. "You feeling alright, Mister Odair?"

"Peachy," I say. "Better, if I could walk."

The doctor pulls a syringe out from a small medicine cabinet near the door. "This will do it," he says. "But it will hurt, and it will knock you out."

I look around pointedly. "It's not like there's anything terribly exciting going on for me to miss."

Apparently my charm works even when wearing a hospital gown, because the doctor smiles and drops the formalities. "I suppose not. Lie back, it'll take a few minutes to really get going."

I lay back, and the doctor leans over me to jab the needle into my arm. As he begins to pull away, I stop him. "How are Katniss and Beetee?"

The doctor glances at the aforementioned patients. "The girl will be fine. Beetee... we think he wrapped his knife in the wire and drove it into the force field by hand. A brave strategy, but it only would have worked if he'd hit the chink in the shield, like Katniss did. What basically happened to him is the equivalent of being hit with a bolt of lightning. He's alive, but it will take intensive care before he's on the road to recovery."

"Thanks, doc," I say. Then, "You're from 13, aren't you?"

He nods. "Born and raised. That's where we're going now – or, our final destination, anyway." His face begins to grow bleary, the knock-out serum in the medication finally setting in. "Sleep well, Mister Odair."

And the world fades to black.

When I come to again, I'm still covered in bruises and feeling like a horde of Peacekeepers decided to trample all over me. On the plus side, my ankle is healed, and the only remains of my shoulder and thigh stab wounds are two thin red lines.

I sit up, holding my head to offset the dizziness, and see that Katniss is still slumbering next to me. Her straps are gone. I try to figure out how much time has passed since the last time I was awake. I'm guessing about a day.

This time, when I swing my legs off the bed and try to stand, I do it slowly. No more searing ankle pain for me, thanks to the good doctor's medicine, but I don't want to do any more damage in case it's still healing. I test the ankle, taking a few hesitant steps, then proceed confidently out of the room. My destination? Anywhere that isn't a hospital room. Preferably the same place that Plutarch is, so I can drag some information out of him.

The hospital opens out into a narrow hallway, with a metal door at the far end. I can hear people speaking from somewhere below my feet, leading me to believe that the hovercraft must have multiple decks. At the metal door, I consider bursting in, but then decide to play the gentleman and knock politely.

Haymitch pulls open the door. "Feeling better?"

"Somewhat." My voice is hoarse, probably from all the strain it's been through the past few days.

"You don't look it," he grunts.

"Screw you," I reply pleasantly.

I enter the room, which appears to be a dining room of some sort. Out the curved windows lining the room, trees speed by underneath us. I try to remember which districts have large forests, but I'm distracted by the arrival of Plutarch Heavensbee through another door.

Before I can say anything – namely, demand to know what has happened to Annie, Natare, Mara, and Blake – Plutarch holds up his hand. "I know you want answers, Finnick, but at least have something to eat while you grill me. You haven't eaten in days. Surely you feel it."

Now that he mentions it, my stomach does feel uncomfortably hollow. "Fine," I say, sitting down at the large table that dominates the center of the room. There are several platters of food laid down the length of the table. I grab a bun and swallow it in two bites. "Now tell me what's going on."

"We're currently heading to District 13 via a rather circuitous route, so Capitol can't follow us," Plutarch explains, picking up a muffin and pulling off its head. "As soon as you got into the arena, the rebellion started in earnest. Most of the districts are still in full-scale fighting mode. Communications are down in 7, 10, and 12. But 11 has control of transportation now, so there's at least a hope of them getting some food out."

All these logistics are interesting, but at the moment I couldn't care less. "What about District Four?" I demand. "Did you get Annie out?"

"They're still fighting," Plutarch says patiently. "I haven't been anywhere near there, let alone long enough to save your girlfriend."

I restrain the urge to punch him for that flippant tone. "Then swing this ship around and take me to 4," I command. "I'll rescue her myself."

"No, I'm sorry," Plutarch says. "There's no way I can get you to 4. But I've given special orders for her retrieval, if possible. It's the best I can do, Finnick."

I resist the urge to lunge across the table and throttle Plutarch, but it's a close thing. "Special orders. A damn lot of good that will do her! Snow's probably arresting her as we speak!"

"We don't know that," Plutarch says gently.

But somehow I know I'm right. Snow despises me – I think the only person he hates more is Katniss. Like he would pass up the chance to snatch up the person I love most in the world. Then it hits me exactly what he will do to Annie once he gets her in his clutches. I've heard enough rumors to have a pretty good idea of what happens to political prisoners in the Capitol. "Then I'll just have to kill myself," I declare. "No sense torturing Annie if I'm dead."

I'm kidding – well, mostly – but Haymitch doesn't pick up on that. "Don't be stupid," he snaps. "That's the worst thing you could do. Get her killed for sure. As long as _you're _alive, they'll keep _her _alive for bait."

Bait. That word strikes a peculiar chord in me. Suddenly, the most horrendous realization dawns on me. Every torture Snow inflicts on Annie, every horrible thing she has to endure... it will all be because of me. Snow is going to go out of his way to torment her in every way imaginable, just to get back at me. And there's not a damned thing I can do about it.

I don't have time to spiral into depression and self-loathing at the moment, though, because Katniss bursts into the room a second later, clutching something tightly in her hand and looking completely deranged. I remember what Haymitch told me about Katniss going berserk and attacking her doctors, so I ready myself to jump her if she starts to get violent. I can only imagine what her trust issues will be like after this latest debacle.

Haymitch arches an eyebrow at her dramatic entrance. "Done knocking yourself out, sweetheart?" She stumbles forward, and he catches her hands. "So it's you and a syringe against the Capitol? See, this is why no one lets you make the plans." He pulls a syringe out of her hand and tosses it onto the table.

At his urging, Katniss takes a seat beside me. She has the look of a wild-animal caged. I doubt she has any idea what's going on here. From Haymitch's words, I wonder if she thinks she's been captured by Capitol. Although, considering she knows next to nothing about the rebellion, I suppose this is fairly reasonable assumption to make.

Plutarch brings Katniss a bowl of broth, and then Haymitch explains what happened. The Hunger Games, the plan to get her out safely, District 13, the rebellion... everything. She sits through it all with a dazed look, and I wonder if she's taking in any of this.

"We had to save you because you're the Mockingjay, Katniss," Plutarch says. "While you live, the revolution lives."

I know what she's thinking before she says Peeta's name. As someone madly in love – although, unlike Katniss, I actually recognize my feelings for what they are – I understand her inability to keep him off her mind.

"The others kept Peeta alive because if he died, we knew there'd be no keeping you in an alliance," Haymitch explains. "And we couldn't risk leaving you unprotected."

"Where is Peeta?" Katniss hisses.

I am so glad right now that I don't have to be the one to answer that question. Because if it took all my willpower not to throttle Plutarch when he told me about Annie, I can only imagine what Katniss is going to do when she finds out about Peeta.

Haymitch unwisely answers this question as well. "He was picked up by the Capitol along with Johanna and Enobaria."

Even though I was expecting it, I'm still caught off-guard as Katniss throws herself at Haymitch, nails first. She scratches her shockingly sharp nails at his face, leaving bloody tracks down his cheek. I think she may have even nicked his eye, although it's hard to tell because Haymitch immediately claps his hand over the scratches as he and Katniss begin to shout at each other. The shouting is so angry, and so passionate, that I have no idea what they're actually saying. I wonder if they even do.

Plutarch catches my eye, and I can see that he's quite unnerved by this display of ferocity. I don't know what you thought would happen, I think. Put three trained killers in one room, two of whom have a history of in-fighting, and he's surprised when, lo and behold, fighting breaks out?

Still, Katniss looks like she's going to go for Haymitch's other cheek, and Haymitch is clearly on the verge of losing it and ruining all my hard work in the arena, so I wrap my arms around Katniss' waist. I'm about a foot taller than her, and yet I still find it a struggle to heave her out of the room and back down the corridor to the medical room. And she fights me each step of the way. I wonder if she snapped in the arena, and is just better at hiding it than Annie is.

The doctor must have heard the commotion, because he runs into the room with two assistants just as I reach Katniss' bed. With their help, we push our flailing Mockingjay up onto the padded bed. I basically lie on top of her legs to stop her from decapitating someone while the doctor restrains her.

I have to give this to Katniss – she always finds a way. So when we restrain everything but her head, she starts to slam that against the table. The doctor eventually has to inject her with a sedative, because it's fairly obvious that nothing else will get through to her in such a manic state.

She calms, body relaxing, eyelids fluttering shut. But even after the doctor and his assistants leave, I remain by Katniss' side. I feel guiltier than I thought it was possible about losing Peeta for her. It wasn't even in my mission parameters – the bottom line was to bring her out alive at all costs – but at some point during the Games Katniss and Peeta became my friends, and now I can't help but feel like I failed them both.

After a while of just sitting and staring at her bound hand, which I'm holding lightly in my own, weariness hits me. Aware that the painkillers and meds haven't entirely left my system yet, I climb back up onto my bed. Sleep is hard to come by, though. Not when I still have so much on my mind. Not when Katniss is lying next to me, about an inch away from losing her mind. Not when Annie is probably locked up in some horrible place, with god knows what tortures being inflicted on her. Not when Peeta is probably being resigned to the same fate.

"Katniss," I murmur, tilting my head on my pillow so that I'm looking at her. I can't tell whether she's asleep or just really, really out of it. "Katniss, I'm sorry." No response.

Convinced now that she truly is asleep, I finally put words to my troubled thoughts. "I wanted to go back for him and Johanna, but I couldn't move," I admit. Rationally, I know that there wasn't much hope of us rescuing them anyway, but ever since those screaming jabberjays in the forest, reason and I have been having an increasingly strenuous relationship.

"it's better for him than Johanna," I continue. "They'll figure out he doesn't know anything pretty fast. And they won't kill him if they think they can use him against you."

"Like bait? Like how they'll use Annie for bait, Finnick?"

So she's awake after all. I feel wetness dripping down my cheeks, and realize that I'm crying. I hate crying, always have, but for some reason I can't get the tears to stop flowing. "I wish she was dead," I whisper. "I wish they were all dead and we were, too. It would be best."

What happened to that optimistic fourteen year-old kid who vowed to survive at all costs? Here I am, ten years later, convinced that dying would be a neat and simple solution to all our current woes. And the hell of it is, I believe every word I say, even though they sound so strange, so horribly wrong, coming from my lips. Natare would never speak to me again, I think, if she heard what I just said. Then I think, what does it matter? She's probably dead, too.

Katniss says nothing else, leaving me alone once again with my thoughts. I close my eyes, but instead of blackness, all I see are memories – the good ones, the bad ones, the horrific ones, the magical ones. And others, ones that can't possibly be memories – Annie hanging from a hook in a dark room, bruised, beaten, limp, Natare sprawled dead on the cobblestones of the fish market, Mara and Blake's heads staked to posts in the main square for the rest of the district to see what happens to insurgents...

I thought earlier that Katniss might have started on the descent to madness. Now I'm starting to wonder if I'm going the same way. Or if I'm already there.


	60. Part 5: Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Eight**

We swing by District 12, which was firebombed immediately following Katniss' stunt with the force field. Other District 13 hovercraft have already arrived when we touch down in a meadow that borders 12. I don't have the energy to get out of bed – the doctor claims that the electrical shock I received in the arena will take me a while to fully recover from – so I lie silently with Katniss and Beetee and wait for someone to tell me what's going on.

Once we lift off from the ground, the first person to enter our little flying hospital is a tall, dark-haired, olive-skinned boy who looks to be about eighteen or nineteen. He looks a lot like Katniss, actually, which leads me to think that he might be a relative of hers that escaped the bombing of 12. Then I see the way he's looking at her. Definitely not a relative. He spots Katniss and hurries towards her, clasping her hand in his as he sinks down beside her.

"How do you know the Mockingjay?" I croak. Clearly I need to speak more, as my voice is harsh from lack of use.

He turns his intense eyes on me. "Gale Hawthorne. I'm a... friend of Katniss'."

I arch an eyebrow at that. When he first spotted Katniss, that look in his eyes was love, plain and simple. "Sure you are," I say. I start to sink back down to my pillow, then reconsider. If Gale were Annie, returned to me, I wouldn't want a witness to our reunion. "I'm going to grab some coffee," I announce, getting to my feet with some difficulty, although I try not to show how weak I've become from lying in a bed the past few days. "Want anything?"

"I'm good, thanks." He doesn't even look at me. Gale Hawthorne only has eyes for Katniss.

Coffee does sound good, though, so I end up going to the cafeteria/meeting room after all. Inside, Haymitch has his feet up on the table, arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed, while Plutarch talks to someone on the phone.

"I see," Plutarch says gravely. "Thank you. I'll tell him."

It's completely irrational for me to think that Plutarch could be talking about me, but at the same time I'm sure that he is. Call it intuition. Call it paranoia. Call it mind-numbing terror. Either way, when Plutarch turns, sees me standing in the doorway, and deflates like a helium-deprived balloon, I know I'm right. "Just get it over with," I plead. I can't stand this uncertainty any longer. I need to know what's happened.

"Snow has Annie," Plutarch says shortly. "My man in 4 just confirmed it. Peacekeepers stormed Victor's Village, arrested Annie Cresta. They killed everyone else."

My blood, already running cold at the knowledge that Annie is now in Snow's hands, turns freezing at this last sentence. "Please. Please don't tell me..."

Plutarch is relentless. "Your sister, her husband, and two family friends – Blake and Mara Calay – were living in your home. I imagine they thought it would be safer than being down in the village. They were all executed. I'm sorry, Finnick."

Suddenly I'm shouting, and crying, and raging. "This is your fault!" I bellow at Plutarch. "My _only _condition for taking part in your rebellion was that you keep my family safe, and you couldn't even do that?" Then I pull a Katniss and lunge for his throat. Someone – probably Haymitch – jabs me with a sedative, and I collapse to the floor.

I don't remember the next few minutes. Or hours. Or days. When I finally wake up, my face is damp with tears, and I'm in a small, windowless gray room, lying on a padded hospital bed. The last thing I want to do is move, but nature's call eventually forces me off the gurney.

My tiny room only has a bed and a few blinking machines – undoubtedly some sort of medical contraptions to make sure I'm not dead – so I head for the single door at the end of my bed. It's as gray and featureless as the rest of the room, but it's an effort to reach it. My legs have trouble working. I wonder how long I was out of it. Not long enough, I think, nearly going under again as thoughts of Annie, and Natare, and Mags, and everyone else I've lost threaten to drown me once more.

I stagger through the door, and find a hospital room – similar to the one on the hovercraft, but this one is much bigger, full of patients, and teeming with doctors and nurses going about their business. The world swims curiously, like I'm looking at everything through a thick pane of distorted glass. I don't recognize anyone – either Katniss and Beetee are both secluded off in private rooms, or they've recovered enough to get a free pass from the hospital. This makes me wonder exactly how long I was lost in my own mind.

A nurse spots me and hurries over, a kind, care-worn woman who looks very familiar, even though I've never seen her in my life. "I'm Katniss' mother," she explains, seeing my bewildered expression. "How are you doing, dear?"

That's a very good question, and not one that I'm in any fit state to answer. I remember a time when I would have responded with a cleverly worded response that would have her giggling like a school girl. Now it's all I can do not to topple over where I stand. "What happened?" I whisper.

Her face contorts in sympathy, and she guides me over to a free bed. "Now that you're awake, you can rejoin the rest of the patients," she declares, pushing me down onto the bed. Then she explains what I've missed.

"From what Mr. Heavensbee told me, you had a sort of mental meltdown after... well, he wouldn't give me the details, but I imagine it must have been something very traumatic. The hovercraft with you and my daughter arrived at District 13 – that's where we are right now – and dropped you off in the medical ward."

Apparently the residents of District 13 all live in an elaborate system of underground bunkers and military facilities built centuries ago. When Katniss' mother and sister arrived with the other refugees who managed to escape 12, they were seamlessly assimilated into the existing society of 13. This all sounds well and good, but it doesn't explain why I was segregated from the rest of the patients.

"You... were somewhat disruptive to the others," Nurse Everdeen explains. According to her carefully-worded sentences, I discover that I when I wasn't asleep – which was most of the time – I would alternate between sobbing, screaming, and delusional rambling. "It upset the other patients, so we had to move you to a different room."

"I see," I say dully. "And now that I'm speaking rationally, I get to rejoin the rest of humanity?"

"If you like."

"What about Annie?"

Katniss' mother looks perplexed by this. Clearly she doesn't know much about my situation, except for things related specifically to my medical care. "Annie?"

"Annie Cresta," I say.

Recognition flares in her eyes. "Katniss mentioned her once or twice, while she was recovering. That poor, mad girl from your district, yes? As I understand it, she is being held by the Capitol."

So not only did Plutarch fail to rescue her the first time, he also neglected to mount any sort of rescue operation during my weeks of unconsciousness. The grief that has been steadily building ever since I woke up, that I've been forcing down, now return fulls force. I fall sideways, curling up in the fetal position, and the tears begin to flow. Something jabs into my arm, and my mind unhinges and floats away into a morphling-induced dreamland.

Various people stop by over the next few weeks, not that I particularly notice or care. Even when I'm awake and lucid – which happens very rarely – people have to tell me something two or three times before I take it in. My concentration is shot to hell, although at least I've stopped the screaming fits.

Katniss shows up a few times. The first few visits I get the feeling she's conflicted about something, although I honestly couldn't care less. It's hard to care about much of anything, when I know that the woman I love is being tortured just because Snow wants to punish me.

In her later visits, though, the anger pretty much disappears from her tone. She starts to sound more like her mother, more caring, more gentle, probably because she's realized how incredibly pitiful I am. The brief conversations we have all blend together in my mind, although one does manage to stick in my long-term memory. It's from about a week after I rejoin the hospital wing proper, when Katniss stops in for a check up and wanders over to see how I'm doing.

"You look better," she says.

"That just might be the worst lie you've ever told," I reply. It seems like the sort of thing I should accompany with a chuckle, but I can barely summon enough energy to keep my eyes open.

"I'm sorry," Katniss adds, after a long moment of silence.

"What?"

"I'm sorry," she repeats.

What could she possibly be sorry for? None of it matters now. "Alright," I say.

"I blamed you for what happened in the arena," Katniss elaborates. When she notices that I don't react, she repeats, "I blamed you, Finnick, and I'm sorry. You're as much a victim as me."

Does she expect me to apologize for my role in the conspiracy, for not telling her about our plan to escape from the arena? I never find out, because she pats my hand, then rises and leaves. I mull her words over in my mind for all of about thirty seconds, at which point the strain becomes too much, and I sink back into oblivion.

As time passes, and presumably the anti-depression drugs that the doctors keep pumping into me start to do their job, I manage to spend more and more time in the conscious world. Every moment awake is a struggle, because I have to keep my mind active. If I ever stop distracting myself, I will think about Annie, and the combination of fury, and terror, and helplessness, and misery usually turn me into a quivering wreck – or so, at least, I've been told. I don't remember much about these episodes, only that I come out of them feeling like crap.

When Nurse Everdeen pronounces me fit enough to leave the hospital wing for short periods of time, I get a thick plastic band slapped around my wrist that reads, "Mentally Disoriented". Nurse Everdeen accompanies me on walks through corridors surrounding the hospital wing, and I stay silent while she prattles on about everything she can think of.

"I'm worried about Katniss," she confides to me one day. "She's making no attempt to blend in here. Every morning she gets her tattoo schedule, but I don't think she's followed a single one so far. And now she's talking about being the figurehead for the revolution! What if she has to go back into battle? I can't stand the thought of losing her, not when she's actually safe for the first time."

I don't look at her as she speaks, my eyes focused on my hands. Part of my therapy, aside from the anti-depression drugs and the psych counseling, is a short length of rope that I tie and untie. I must have mentioned that Mags and I used to do something similar back in District 4 – probably during one of my delusional ramblings – because they give me a rope just short enough that I can't turn it into a noose. Do they think I'm going to kill myself? I guess they don't realize that I can't end my life until I know that Annie is either safe, or waiting for me in the afterlife.

After what has to be at least a month being in 13 – although, granted, my time perception while heavily drugged up is somewhat skewed – one of the doctors announces that there will be an assembly this afternoon. All mobile patients are required to attend. This includes me.

I end up at the center of a group of patients, all of us in hospital robes and dressing gowns, and we walk down to the assembly hall together. We must look like a bunch of nutcases, although in reality only about a third of us are. In an unexpected moment of levity, one of the patients – a perfectly sane woman named Melinda – decides to pretend she's crazy, and starts loudly predicting how the people passing us by are going to die.

"A horrible fire!" she screeches at a rotund young man who's probably from District 1. "Flesh melting off your face, flames dancing on your skin!"

He quickens his pace and hurries away. Some of the patients laugh, although I can't summon the energy. I'm too focused on my rope, which goes pretty much everywhere I do, as it's a very good means of distracting myself. We enter the massive meeting room, and I wait with the other patients for whatever they want to tell us. I thought I would be uncomfortable, suddenly being around so many people, but as long as I concentrate on my rope, I'm fine.

Someone nudges me, and I turn to see Katniss standing beside me. She looks well enough – certainly not off the deep end like I am. I wonder how she can cope with the knowledge that everything she does will be taken out on Peeta, until I realize that she must not know. Well, I'm certainly not about to burst her bubble, make her as useless as me. Plutarch approached me a while ago about becoming a figurehead for the revolution, to which I politely told him to go screw himself. I'm not bringing any more pain down on Annie than I can help.

"Finnick! How are you doing?"

Has she been talking to me this whole time? I really need to try and pay more attention. "Katniss," I say, taking her hand. It's hard and calloused, nothing like Annie's soft, fragile hand. "Why are we meeting here?"

"I told Coin I'd be her Mockingjay," Katniss says, referring to the president of District 13. I can't remember her first name. I'll just call her President Coin. "But I made her promise to give the other tributes immunity if the rebels won. In public, so there are plenty of witnesses."

Immunity? For Peeta, obviously – that will be her main concern. But that means Annie will be safe as well, assuming she survives. "Oh. Good," I say. "Because I worry about that with Annie. That she'll say something that could be construed as traitorous without knowing it."

Katniss' eyes flicker. "Don't worry, I took care of it." She gives my hand a squeeze, then makes a bee-line for the podium at the head of the hall.

I try to look over the crowd, see what she's doing, but the hall is too packed. So I turn my eyes down and focus in on my knotting and un-knotting. A few minutes later, I get another nudge, and see that Katniss has returned. Why is she standing with me, instead of her family? I know that they made it out of 12 before the bombing. And I also know that she isn't attracted to me. Could it just be that she needs to be around someone who understands what's she feeling right now? Because if it's anything close to the daily horror I experience, I'm her guy.

President Coin announces that in return for Katniss becoming the Mockingjay, all the victors being held in Capitol will receive a full pardon, regardless of what damage they might cause. She also says that, if Katniss steps out of line, then Peeta, Johanna, Enobaria, and Annie's immunities will be null and void.

Katniss catches my eye, and I know she's thinking what I am. District 13 is not the safe-haven we imagined it to be.


	61. Part 5: Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Nine**

The next day, Gale Hawthorne visits me in the hospital wing. "What are you still doing here?" he asks by way of greeting.

I don't bother looking up from my rope. I'm in the middle of one of the more complex fishing knots I know, and it's taking all my concentration. Hence the appeal.

"Hey, Odair!" Gale snaps, trying to grab the rope from me.

Bad move. He may be some rebel hero and fancy hunter, but I'm a Hunger Games victor. We're cut from a different cloth. Before he knows what's happened, I twist his arm around and seize him in a headlock. "Don't touch my rope," I hiss.

Gale could fight back, but to his immense credit, he doesn't. Instead, he holds up his hands and says, "I won't. Let me go."

Some part of my beleaguered mind recognizes that choking the life out of Katniss' cousin/friend/lover isn't a great idea. So I release him, and he takes a generous step back, bringing a hand up to gently rub his throat.

"Sorry," I say. "Killer instincts. You know how it is."

"Sure," Gale says. He points at my plastic wristband. "Mentally disoriented. How long are you going to keep this up?"

Has he really come all this way just to antagonize me? I barely even know the guy. "I'm going to answer that in a riddle. That good with you?"

Gale looks intrigued. "Alright."

"Okay then. Once upon a time, a boy and a girl fell madly in love. Then the evil government stole the girl away, and told the boy that if he did anything to upset them, they'd take out their anger on the girl. What does the boy do?"

He crosses his arms, obviously annoyed that he's been set up. "I get it, Odair. You're paralyzed with the fear of hurting... what's her name? Annie something. Get over it."

I arch my eyebrow at him. "Excuse me?"

"When Katniss went to the Hunger Games, do you think I ended up a quivering wreck like you? No! I kept on going, because I knew it's what she'd want. If your girlfriend saw you like this, the King of the Psych ward, how do you think she'd react?"

"Hard to know, considering she's even farther gone than me."

Gale was obviously about to say something, but he pauses when he takes in my response. "Listen," he says somewhat more gently. "All I'm saying is that, if I were the one captured, I'd want Katniss to do every damn thing in her power to take down that bastard Snow."

"And if Katniss were captured?" I reply smoothly. "Then what would you do? Knowing that each word you speak against the Capitol results in a whipping for her? Or worse?"

His voice is hard as steel. "I would keep fighting."

Gale leaves, but his words stay with me. I remember a pledge I made years ago, that I would do everything in my power to destroy the Capitol and Snow. When Annie was hurt in the Games, that only strengthened my resolve. So what's changed now? Maybe the fact that everyone I ever loved – Mags, Natare, Blake, Mara – are all dead, and it's either indirectly or directly my fault.

It takes me a whole day to process Gale's words, but in the end I decide there's something to them. I can't do anything public – I know very well how merciless Snow is – but there's no reason to keep myself confined to the hospital wing. There must be some way I can help the revolution that doesn't involve going before the cameras like Katniss is doing.

Speaking of Katniss, she has some sort of photo shoot today for the upcoming Mockingjay propos – short, propaganda videos that will be aired throughout the districts once the District 13 techies figure out how to hack into the Capitol video feed. This seems like the perfect opportunity to break my self-imposed seclusion.

I wander out of the hospital wing, with absolutely no idea where these propos are being shot. Then I run into – of all people – President Coin herself.

"Finnick Odair," she says, her voice as severe as her haircut. "I'm pleased to see you out and about."

"How pleased?" I ask in my seductive tone.

Her eyes widen slightly. "You're as good as Plutarch promised, even half-mad. Are you sure you won't consider taking a more active role in our little rebellion?"

"I already took an active role," I inform her. "I sacrificed a hell of a lot more than you could possibly imagine. So forgive me if I'm sitting things out for now."

"I'm not the sort of person to forgive," Coin says, then nods curtly. "But I understand your reluctance." She marches off, looking like she owns the place. Which, I suppose, she does. What a strange woman. She acts like she cares, but everything I'm reading beneath the surface screams indifference.

I reach the stage, where Katniss is being pawed at by her colorful stylists – I vaguely remember them from the Games. I guess Plutarch brought them with him when he fled the Capitol. I wonder what happened to Germanicus and the triplets. Probably more deaths to add to my roster.

I wander around the set, watching as Plutarch and Fulvia, his assistant, order Katniss into various poses. Her face is done up so that she looks like a confident, dangerous woman – a far cry from the little girl who won the Hunger Games a year ago – and her clothes are blood-stained and battle-worn. Katniss looks bored out of her mind.

Finally, Plutarch calls a stop to the theatrics. We all gather around the screens to see the result of the shoot. Katniss stares out at us from the monitor, looking very heroic and larger-than-life and not at all like herself. I see her expression, and speak up. "They'll either want to kill you, kiss you, or be you."

Katniss catches my eye, and she gives me a hint of a smile. I wonder how it happened that the closest person to me now is a seventeen-year-old firebrand from District 12. How times change.

Then Plutarch and Fulvia get her back in front of the cameras to deliver the Rebellion's painstakingly crafted slogan: People of Panem, we fight, we dare, we end our hunger for justice! Katniss does not look impressed. She and I appear to be the only ones. Then she gets the green light, and shouts the line. I don't think I've ever seen anything less inspirational in my entire life.

Somewhere above my head, Haymitch's voice crackles over the intercom. "And that, my friends," he says, "is how a revolution dies."

For the first time in a long, long time, I laugh.

Being a part of the revolution, even if just in a bystander capacity, breathes new life into me. I'm not about to go prancing around in front of the cameras with Katniss – she's doing a fine job of mucking that up by herself – but I manage to sleep almost the entire night through without waking up screaming and soaked in sweat. This is a big deal for me. The next morning, Katniss' mother delivers me a message from Haymitch. All people who know Katniss personally are to report to the Command room immediately.

I run into Beetee in the hallway leading into Command. I don't think I've seen him since the arena. He looks well enough, although he's rolling himself along in a wheelchair. "Hey," I greet, coming up behind him and taking over control of the wheelchair from him. "I was wondering what happened to you."

"I could say the same thing," Beetee responds pointedly. Not in a mean way, just an insightful one. He's probably the smartest person I know.

"I've been... dealing."

"And I've been inventing. I suppose we all have our ways of coping."

"I'm not sure my way is particularly effective," I admit.

"You're out of the hospital, aren't you?" Beetee reminds me. "I'd call that progress."

I smile. I'm positively chipper these days. "I guess so."

We proceed into Command alongside some cattle expert from District 10. I can't fathom how or where Katniss ran into him. Haymitch, who stopped in a few times to see me, waves a hand in greeting. We victors have to stick together. Now, more than ever.

I settle down beside Beetee, twisting my rope around my hands under the table. We watch as Haymitch plays the footage from yesterday, complete with Katniss' robotic performance. "All right," Haymitch proceeds to say. "Would anyone like to argue that this is of use to us in winning the war?" Did Plutarch and Fulvia seriously want to use the video? It wouldn't surprise me.

Haymitch then calls us to speak up, tell him about a time where Katniss – and Katniss alone, not with Peeta by her side – genuinely moved us. The responses flow fast and thick. Katniss looks overwhelmed by this outpouring of support. It reminds me that, underneath all her fire and bravado, she's just a seventeen-year-old girl way out of her depth.

I listen to the suggestions, agreeing with every single one. At one point, I even suggest quietly, "When she tried to carry Mags." Katniss is swamped by this point, and probably doesn't even realize I was the one who said it. Did I ever thank her for trying? I can't remember. But then, my memory is appallingly unreliable these days.

Eventually Haymitch holds up his notepad, where he's been writing down all our suggestions. "So, the question is, what do all of these have in common?"

"They were Katniss'," Gale says. "No one told her what to do or say."

Beetee perks up at this. "Unscripted, yes! So we should just leave you alone, right?"

After a good deal of arguing, Coin decides to let Katniss out into the field. They hope that putting her near danger – although not actually in danger – will inspire her into some sort of speech they can use for their propos. Coin tells Katniss she'll be going to District 8, and adjourns the meeting.

I'm about halfway back to the hospital when I am seized with this sudden, inexplicable need to go with Katniss. Not to be on camera, or fight the Capitol, but just to get out of this glorified hole in the ground and feel like I'm doing _something. _I rush towards the hovercraft hangar.

Plutarch and Fulvia are walking at a sedate pace down the hallway in front of me. I run up to them, hospital slippers flapping with each step. "Plutarch," I say, grabbing his arm frantically. "I want to go with Katniss. I need to help." I see his lips start to form into the word "no". "I don't even have to go down on the ground," I press. "I'll stay in the hovercraft. Please!"

Do I sound crazy? The look on Fulvia's face certainly indicates that I do. Unfortunately, Plutarch is of the same opinion. "Finnick," he says gently, putting a fatherly hand on my shoulder. "Son, you aren't well."

"I'm _fine_," I insist vehemently.

Plutarch shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Finnick, but my decision is final. You aren't going this time."

They turn into a side corridor, but I shake my head and continue down the hallway. Maybe Katniss will understand. I turn the corner and see her standing with a man named Boggs by the elevator, obviously waiting to go down to the hangar. "Katniss!" I shout, hurrying over to her. "They won't let me go! I told them I'm fine, but they won't even let me ride in the hovercraft!"

Katniss stares at me for a long moment, and for a minute I'm certain she'll take my side and convince Plutarch to let me go. Then she suddenly smacks her forehead. "Oh, I forgot," she says. "It's this stupid concussion. I was supposed to tell you to report to Beetee in Special Weaponry. He's designed a new trident for you."

At the word trident, all my panic about going with Katniss disappears from my mind. Images flicker across my vision, of the wonderful week spent out at sea with father and Natare before the Games, before my life got turned upside down. "Really?" I say happily. "What's it do?"

"I don't know. But if it's anything like my bow and arrows, you're going to love it. You'll need to train with it, though."

Train with my new trident. This sounds like a fabulous idea to me. Maybe, if I can show Plutarch and Coin that I'm well enough to use my signature weapon, they'll let me out of the hospital for good. Actually, now that I think about it, I think I remember Nurse Everdeen telling me that they'd assigned me quarters a few days ago. I'll have to look into that. "Right. Of course. I guess I better get down there." I turn to leave.

"Finnick?" Katniss says. "Maybe some pants?"

I look down. I'm still in my hospital gown and slippers. No wonder people keep looking at me like I'm crazy. Irritated by this thought, I rip off the gown, leaving me in only my underwear. I see Katniss' eyes widen, and all of a sudden I'm back in Capitol, playing to my legions of admirers. "Why?" I ask seductively, striking a suggestive pose. "Do you find this... distracting?"

Katniss gives a peal of laughter. The stern man beside her just looks uncomfortable. Behind them, the elevator doors open. "I'm only human, Odair," Katniss grins.

I think that's the first time she's actually admitted that she finds me attractive. Will wonders never cease. I whistle jauntily to myself as I hurry off towards Special Weaponry to see what Beetee has whipped up for me.


	62. Part 5: Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Ten**

After getting directions from a pair of stern, gray-suited District 13 soldiers – who are significantly nicer to me once they see the "Mentally Disoriented" band at my wrist – I proceed down to meet Beetee in the Special Weaponry sector. I am very excited about this trident that he's making for me, partially because I enjoy shiny new things, and mostly because it will provide me with an excellent distraction to keep my mind off of Annie.

Beetee is still in his wheelchair when I arrive, and he hurries me through a bunch of overly elaborate security measures into the Special Weaponry room. The walls are lined with all sorts of cool gadgets, along with a couple of high-tech bows that Katniss must have drooled over. Beetee walks over to an opaque cabinet and opens it up. Inside is a single, gleaming gold and silver trident.

"It's beautiful," I say, reaching out to run my fingers reverently along the smooth metal. "You've outdone yourself."

"That's not all I've done," Beetee chuckles, gesturing for me to lift it off its prongs and hand it to him. Once it's settled in his lap, he grabs a wrist cuff and hands it to me. "Put this on," he urges. It's made of rubber and metal, and has several buttons that must correspond with the trident.

We head to the archery range, and he shows me how, by pressing the largest button, my trident will return to me from wherever I've thrown it. Since there isn't exactly a rope hanging out the end, I have no idea how Beetee accomplished this. He rambles about electromagnetic fields for a few minutes, then shows me what else the trident can do.

And I have to tell you, this trident is easily the most remarkable weapon I've ever laid hands on. If I'd had this thing in the arena... let's just say that it would have been less of a game, and more of a slaughter. It can heat up so hot that the prongs glow like embers. It can charge with electricity to deliver a nasty shock to whatever it hits. And it responds to my voice alone – well, and Beetee's, I suppose – and it actually adjusts its balance to fit my unique physical makeup. You can even detach the prongs individually to use as knives, although I can't imagine a situation where I'd prefer daggers to this amazing trident.

Then Beetee takes the trident and shows me a circular groove around the middle of the shaft. It's so fine that I would never have noticed it if he didn't point it out. "The shaft is in two sections," Beetee explains. "If you give the two halves a sharp twist in opposite directions, you will trigger the trident's emergency feature."

"Emergency feature?" I start to twist the two halves, but Beetee clamps a hand down on my arm before I can proceed.

"Do _not _do that," Beetee snaps, and I don't think I've ever seen him this serious. Not even in the arena. "You are only to twist that trident if you have no other option."

"What will happen?"

"It will release a shockwave that will obliterate every living thing within three meters of you. As long as you've got both hands on the trident, you'll be grounded and it won't kill you. But it will hurt, and it will probably injure you as well. I've never done a human test – no one wants to volunteer. So, to repeat, you only use the emergency feature if you are surrounded by enemies with no hope of escape, on the brink of death and with nothing to lose. Understand me?"

I stare down at this deadly device that Beetee has created. "Got it," I nod. "I'm assuming you made it so that I can't accidentally twist the thing?"

"It's screwed very tightly," Beetee agrees. "You'll have to use all your strength to activate it."

"Right." I store this information away for safe keeping. "You think I'll ever have to use it?"

"I sincerely hope not," Beetee says. "I wasn't even going to include it at first, but I... to be honest, you're one of the only friends I have that is still alive. I'd like to keep you that way."

I've known the old inventor for a few years now, and I know that he's not exactly one to get emotional. So instead of thanking him profusely, I just say, "I really appreciate this, Beetee."

He smiles and nods. "I thought you might."

The next day, I'm lounging on my bed, knotting my rope, when Katniss comes in. She's back from her sojourn in District 8 now, and things must have taken a turn for the worse, because she's in a wheelchair. Nurse Everdeen puts her in a bed on the far side of the room and draws the privacy curtains, and I restrain the urge to go and ask Katniss what happened. I'm sure I'll find out soon enough from someone.

Haymitch arrives about an hour or two later. He hovers by Katniss' bedside for a few minutes, then sees me and comes over for a chat. He's holding a small white device in his hand, and he looks pissed. "How was 8?" I ask lightly.

"Capitol sent a fleet of bombers while Katniss was on the ground," Haymitch scowls, clutching the little white thing tightly in his fist. "I told the fool girl to hide and stay out of harm's way. So of course she took out the earpiece, climbed up into a machine gun nest, and began shooting the planes out of the sky with that trick bow Beetee made her."

"Hard to keep someone alive when they won't even talk to you."

"I won't have it," Haymitch snarls. "She wants to be a part of the action, fine. But she's doing it with me in her ear, or not at all. I've worked too hard to lose her now."

I hold up my hands. "I'm not arguing with you. Girl needs some boundaries, or who knows what she'll do. Hell, the last time we left her to her own devices, she... what? Openly defied the Capitol, inspired thousands of people towards revolution, broke us out of the arena and unintentionally became the figurehead of the rebellion?"

Haymitch peers at me suspiciously through blood shot eyes – he's been forced into sobriety and is not handling it well. I imagine he's trying to decide if I'm being sarcastic. Which I most certainly am. As if to pay me back for my comment, Haymitch says, "How's that insanity treating you?"

"The doctors termed it a mental breakdown, actually," I respond. "How's sobriety treating you?"

He glowers at me for a minute, and then we're both laughing. Haymitch tilts his head towards Katniss. "I'm going to wait for her to wake up, and then put the fear of God into her for disobeying me."

"I'm going to take a nap," I reply. Haymitch nods, and slouches off across the room.

I wake up around dinner time, and see Katniss sitting in her bed, staring down at her hands. A nurse brings me my dinner tray, and I'm about to start eating it when I see Katniss look up at the TV. Intrigued, I grab my tray and go over to sit beside her, so that we can watch the latest propo together.

"How was 8?" I ask.

"Horrible."

Having expected as much, I fall silent as the propo airs. It's about how Capitol bombed a hospital in District 8, with narratives from a few people explaining what happened. When the bombs start to hit the hospital, Katniss buries her face in her pillow. Having a decent understanding of her mind by this point, I expect she's reliving the experience, remembering how helpless she felt when she could do nothing to stop the attack.

When it's over, I say, "People should know that happened. And now they do."

"Let's turn it off, Finnick," Katniss says. "Before they run it again." I reach for the control, but then she cries, "Wait!"

I look up to see what stopped her, and discover a special Capitol broadcast is airing. Caesar Flickerman appears on-screen, and his guest star is none other than Peeta. He looks sickly and is clearly in pain, despite the layers of makeup they've slathered on to hide this from the public. I glance at Katniss, and see that all the blood has drained from her face. "Oh, Peeta..." she whispers.

Peeta and Flickerman talk about Katniss, and Peeta explains how he's sure Katniss is being used by the rebellion, and doesn't really have any idea that what she's doing is bad. Yet another pathetic attempt by Snow and his media machine to undermine the rebellion. Then Flickerman asks Peeta if he has anything he'd like to say to me.

"There is," Peeta says, looking directly into the camera. "Don't be a fool, Katniss. Think for yourself. They've turned you into a weapon that could be instrumental in the destruction of humanity. If you've got any real influence, use it to put the brakes on this thing. Use it to stop the war before it's too late. Ask yourself, do you really trust the people you're working with? Do you really know what's going on? And if you don't... find out."

Oh, fantastic. Peeta is warning Katniss not to trust the rebellion. Although I have nothing against the rebels in particular, I know all too well that people in positions of leadership have a tendency to become corrupt. And from the look on Katniss' face, she's taking Peeta's words to heart. She must know more than I do. And despite her issues, if she doesn't trust the rebellion, then there's probably a good reason. Her instincts are odd, but they always seem to lead her the right way.

There are footsteps outside the hospital. It's undoubtedly Plutarch and Fulvia, come to do damage control. And from the way Katniss' eyes are hardening, she's not going to be able to deny that Peeta's words didn't affect her. Somehow I doubt that President Coin will be particularly pleased to hear that her Mockingjay doesn't trust her.

I seize Katniss' arm, forcing her to look at me. "We didn't see it."

"What?"

"We didn't see Peeta. Only the propo on 8. Then we turned the set off because the images upset you. Got it?" She nods. But she's still got this wide-eyed, shocked look, so I snap, "Finish your dinner." Mercifully she does as told.

The door to the hospital room opens. "Gale really came across well on camera," I say, acting like they interrupted us mid-conversation. "He's a stoic guy, so I hadn't expected him to seem so open and likeable. Is he always like that, or just when the cameras are rolling?"

"Oh, hi," Katniss says, swallowing her mouthful of cabbage as she turns her head to greet Plutarch and Fulvia. "Great propo."

As has always been the case since we first stepped into the arena, I have Katniss' back. "Really fantastic editing," I agree. "Should have half the districts weeping. Powerful stuff."

The looks on Plutarch and Fulvia's faces are pure relief. "Well, we put a lot of effort into them," Fulvia agrees. "And Katniss is such a gem when she's in the moment."

"She certainly is," Plutarch agrees, beaming at Katniss. They suspect nothing.


	63. Part 5: Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Eleven**

Katniss approaches me the next day with the offer of going out into the woods to hunt. Since I spend basically all my time in the hospital – that, or roaming the halls and getting ogled by the over-worked, under-fed ladies of 13 – leaving this underground labyrinth sounds like a splendid idea. I like to think I get the invite because Katniss likes my company, but I suspect the real reason is that she wants to talk about our little coverup yesterday.

Before that, though, I have an appointment with Fulvia in the Command room. She approaches me at an ungodly hour of the morning, and asks if I'm interested in narrating some propos about fallen tributes in the Games.

"We're calling them 'We Remember' spots," she explains. "Remind the people exactly why they're fighting. And I thought you might like to narrate, seeing as you knew so many of the tributes."

"The victors, yes," I agree. "I didn't really talk to the tributes before the last Games."

"No," Fulvia agrees. "But you watched their Games, you were there in Capitol when they happened, and you have the unique perspective of understanding what they went through."

"And?" I press, arching an eyebrow.

Fulvia doesn't flinch. "And you're an unbelievably attractive man with a silver tongue and a voice like smooth honey. All you have to do is look into the camera with those eyes of yours, and people will believe any damn thing you say."

I have to laugh at that. "I respect a woman who tells it like it is. Count me in."

She escorts me down to the sound stage, and shows me what she's been planning. A series of short, maybe 30 second clips. A video or series of pictures of the tribute will play behind me while I pay tribute to their life, and remind the viewers how tragic their deaths were. Each clip ends with me solemnly saying, "We remember."

Fulvia slates me to make dozens of these propos, but she has me start off with six or seven to see how things go. The first one is for Rue, that little girl that Katniss tried to protect during her Games, for whom she wove a flowery funeral shroud and sang her into the afterlife.

I stand in front of a green screen and read the words on the prompter. Considering how tragic her death was, I have little trouble summoning the requisite emotion needed to really sell this. "Every tribute sent into the arena was a tragedy, but the tragedy was most pronounced whenever a twelve-year-old, still a child, was chosen to be in the Games. Rue was such a child, a sweet, innocent girl who loved nothing more than to hop, singing, from tree branch to tree branch in the orchards of her district. In the arena, she retained that innocence, avoiding conflict and simply seeking to continue living freely, as should be the right of every man, woman, and child in Panem. When she was cruelly struck down, Katniss alone was there to recognize her worth, to comfort her as she passed into the next world. She died in our Mockingjay's arms, a smile on her lips, Katniss' song singing her off into the afterlife. Her life was brief but vibrant, her death too early. We remember all that she sacrificed at the hands of President Snow and his government. We remember Rue."

When I finish, I look away from the prompter. There are at least ten people in the room, and every single one is wiping tears from their eyes. After nearly a minute of silence, Fulvia clears her throat. "That was good. Let's do the next one."

Wiress' face replaces Rue's, new words appear on the prompter, and we start the whole process again.

I get out of the studio in mid-afternoon, and on my way back to the hospital I run into Katniss, who informs me that we're going hunting. She tells me as we take an elevator up to the surface that she and Gale come up here as part of her deal with Coin – she says that she'd go crazy if she had to stay cooped up underground all the time. To be honest, I've been underground so long that being out among nature and the wide open sky is actually jarring for the first few minutes. I wish we were near a body of water – swimming has always had a calming effect on me, and I could use that now more than ever.

Katniss brings her bow and arrows with her, while I'm unarmed. Considering my lack of hunting experience, I'll probably scare away any game she might shoot, but then, hunting isn't exactly the reason we're out here together, is it?

We ditch our communicators, then perch on a fallen log and wait for the other person to bring up Peeta's interview. When Katniss says nothing, I take the initiative. "I've haven't heard one word about it," I announce. "No one's told you anything?"

Katniss shakes her head. "Not even Gale?" From what I understand, he's her best friend. If my friend kept such a thing from me... well, I wouldn't be sitting in a clearing talking about it with a fellow Hunger Games victor. I would be confronting them, probably making a scene in the process. Or, at least, I would have back when I was Katniss' age. I used to be terrible at subterfuge and secrecy, but now I'm something of an expert. I guess that's yet another thing I have Snow to thank for.

Katniss shakes her head again. "Maybe he's trying to find a time to tell you privately."

"Maybe," she says.

We sit silently for what must be at least an hour. No idea what's going through Katniss' head, but I'm conflicted. I want to enjoy the sunlight on my skin – pale now, after weeks underground – and the marvels of nature, but all I can think is how unfair it is that I can do these things, and Annie can't. That sends me into another spiral of depression, so it's a welcome relief when Katniss suddenly slips an arrow onto her bowstring and takes down a deer that unwisely wanders into our clearing.

Grateful for something to keep me occupied, I haul the deer up on my back – time to replenish some of the muscles I've lost lying around all day – and carry it back to the concealed elevator. Katniss remarks that she hopes we'll see some of the deer at dinner tonight, and sure enough, there are small chunks of venison in the stew.

I spend the next day locked up on the sound stage, swamped in the dozens of propos Fulvia is having me do. It strikes me as strange that I'm doing so many eulogies for tributes in Katniss' Games, who she undoubtedly knows better than me. "Wouldn't it be better for Katniss to do these?"

Fulvia barks a laugh. "She's best unscripted, remember? I can't even imagine how catastrophic it would be if she tried to do these. Trust me, you're perfect for our purposes."

"Where is Katniss, anyway?"

She shrugs. "Went to 12 with Plutarch to film a propo about the bombing." Fulvia claps her hands. "Back to work, Odair!"

Being faced with this endless stream of people I knew, people who are dead now while I still live, is exhausting. By the end of it, I'm not only having difficulty staying on my feet, I'm careening towards a full on breakdown. Fulvia must see that I'm getting close to losing it, because she hastily says, "That's a wrap," grabs my elbow, and personally escorts me back up to the hospital wing.

Nurse Everdeen hurries over as Fulvia marches me over to my bed. "Is everything alright?" she asks worriedly.

"He's been filming propos all day, and I think they got to him," Fulvia whispers, although just loudly enough that I can hear her. I try to ignore them, lying down on the bed and sinking my head into the pillow.

"Oh dear," Katniss' mother frets, leaning over me and smoothing my hair off my face. "And he was getting so much better." I should be annoyed that she's treating me like a child, but her touch feels so much like my mother's that I can't bring myself to say anything. My body is shaking, which doesn't bode well.

"He did marvelously," Fulvia confides. "There won't be a dry eye in all of Panem once Beetee figures out how to break into the Capitol feed."

"Well, I'm glad that something good came out of this," Nurse Everdeen says severely. I imagine she blames Fulvia for my latest relapse.

"We all have to contribute as best we can," Fulvia reminds her, then strides off.

Katniss' mother watches her go, then takes a seat beside my bed. I close my eyes, not up to talking at the moment. She seems to understand, and she grips my hand in hers while she speaks softly to me. "Katniss is gone again," she says. "Gone back to 12, to see the ashes of our home. I can only imagine what's going through her head right now. What's going through yours. What kind of sick man would subject children to such torments?"

I don't respond. I don't think she expected me to. "I'm proud of Prim," she adds, referring to Katniss' younger sister. "She's been taking medic classes – her teachers say she'll be a great doctor one day. At least some good has come out of all of this."

I think of Natare. My sweet, adoring sister whose bones are probably nothing now but ashes scattered across the sea. No, I think. Nothing good will come of this until Snow is destroyed. Any good occurrences before that are just dumb luck.

Katniss' mother stays with me for a few minutes, her soothing voice a welcome distraction from the turmoil of my thoughts. But as she stands up to leave, she pauses. "Finnick," she says firmly. "I think it's high time you get out of this hospital."

My eyes open at that. "What?"

"You need to get away from this place," she declares. "I think you've forgotten what it means to live, cooped up in here all the time. Tomorrow morning, I'm assigning this bed to someone else. You'll have to stay in your own room after that."

For some reason this thought terrifies me, and it's exactly because of this reaction that I agree to her plan. So the next morning after breakfast, Katniss' mother helps me gather my meager personal effects, and walks me through the corridors to my new room. It's small and sparse, but it's mine.

The minute she closes the door behind her, I feel the headiest sense of relief. I'd been self-sufficient for so long, and then suddenly I was wholly dependent on others, and I realize that what I really need is to go back to the way I was before. I'll never be able to actually revert to my past self, of course, but taking care of myself again is a good start.

After spending an hour or so acquainting myself with my new quarters, I decide to visit Beetee in Special Defense and say hello, maybe take my trident for a spin. When I arrive, I'm directed to a small room full of computers. Beetee and several techies are crowded around them, and the tapping of keys fills the air.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

Beetee turns, sees me, and smiles. "You look better."

"For the moment," I agree. "What are the computers for?"

"We've almost figured out how to break into the nationwide feed," Beetee explains, directing my attention to one of the monitors. It's full of squiggly lines and makes absolutely no sense to me. "You can see how close we are. Snow is scheduled to make a broadcast tonight. If we can hack it..." He doesn't need to finish. Cutting off Snow mid-speech with rebellious propaganda would be an incredible blow to the Capitol. Especially if he can make the propos play in Capitol, like he's suggesting.

"Anything I can help with?" I ask.

Beetee shakes his head. "I designed you a back holster for the trident. Why don't you go try it on and see how it fits?"

This sounds agreeable enough to me, so I proceed to the weapons vault. As Beetee promised, there's a strappy contraption in the trident cabinet, which after some maneuvering I manage to get around my shoulders and onto my back. It's basically a series of straps that wrap around my shoulders and chest, with a long, flat piece of metal going diagonally across my back. Since Beetee designed it, I assume there's something special about it. Sure enough, if I move the trident within a few inches of the metal plate, it snaps on magnetically and stays there as firmly as if it were welded on. There's also a small pocket on my right shoulder strap within biting distance. It's barely noticeable, and is just big enough to hold something very small. Like a suicide pill, in case I'm ever captured by Snow. He really does think of everything.

I take my fancy trident to the practice range, and I'm so focused that I completely forget about dinner. It's only when Beetee rolls into the room and sees me still there that I get any indication of how much time is passed. "Finnick!" he exclaims. "You should get up to Command, we're about to launch our airtime assault!"

Command is crowded by the time I get there, but Plutarch has saved two seats – one for me, and one for Katniss. I guess he likes to keep his victors as close as possible. The screens are on, showing the usual Capitol programming. "When is Beetee starting?" I ask Plutarch as I slide into my seat.

"He's double-checking everything now," Plutarch says. "Once Snow shows up to do a speech, Beetee will try to hack in." Plutarch pats my arm. "You're looking better, my friend."

I'm not so sure we're friends. He did inadvertently get my family killed and Annie kidnapped. Then again, we did start a revolution together. "Better than I was," I say. "You want to see me completely recovered, you bring me Annie, or let me go after her."

Plutarch shakes his head regretfully. "It isn't that simple, Finnick. You know how close a watch Snow is keeping on his captives. The time isn't ripe."

"Then ripen it already," I hiss. "God knows what Snow is doing to Annie as we speak. Hell, we know what he's done to Peeta – it's only a matter of time before the boy snaps irrevocably. And when that happens, I can assure you that Katniss will want nothing to do with the revolution."

"I'm aware of all this," Plutarch says calmly. "The best thing you can do for Annie right now is take care of yourself. That way, when we do rescue her, she'll have a man to come back to, not the broken wreck of her former lover. Understand me?"

There's a hard edge to his tone that I've rarely heard from the generally affable Plutarch. I'm tempted to punch him, but Katniss' arrival saves him from his impending facial disfigurement. "What's going on?" Katniss asks, sitting down between Plutarch and I. "Aren't we seeing the 12 propos?"

Right, District 12, where she went yesterday. "Oh no," Plutarch says. "I mean, possibly. I don't know exactly what footage Beetee plans to use."

"Beetee thinks he's found a way to break into the feed nationwide," I explain, seeing her perplexed expression. "So that our propos will air in the Capitol, too. He's down working on it in Special Defense now. There's live programming tonight. Snow's making an appearance or something." A trumpet fanfare goes off on the screen. "I think it's starting."

Snow and Peeta appear on a podium. Snow is his usual slimy self, but Peeta is clearly reaching the limits of his endurance. His prosthetic lag taps chaotically on the metal rung of his chair, his expression like that of a caged wild animal. One of my more frequent Capitol lovers, Hortensia Flavius – the one who told me about Snow's back-stabbing, poisonous ways – mentioned to me once that she works in "Suspect Relations", by which she means dealing with Snow's enemies. She didn't go into details, but she did allude that one of the more popular forms of interrogation for political prisoners involves mind-altering substances and truth serums. From the slightly deranged look on Peeta's face, I'd guess that the torture hasn't been exclusively physical.

"He's worse," Katniss gasps. I grab her hand, clenching it tightly, offering silent support. Plutarch glances our way, eying our clasped hands with a calculating expression. It isn't what he thinks. In the span of 24 hours, I lost my sister and my two closest friends. For whatever reason, my heart has decided to fill the void they left in me with Katniss.

Peeta starts rambling on about a cease-fire. Then, all of a sudden, Katniss is on screen, standing in a pile of rubble.

"He did it!" Plutarch shouts, leaping to his feet. "He did it! Beetee broke in!"

Peeta returns, obviously jarred by seeing Katniss' face. He tries to plow on with the speech, but then I'm on-screen, delivering my eulogy to Rue. Then, for the next five minutes Capitol tries to maintain control of the airwaves, but Beetee keeps interrupting with 5 and 10 second clips. I sit silently through it all, watching as Snow's scowl grows, and Peeta's trapped, frantic expression worsens.

Seeing myself on screen, doing the We Remember clips, fills me with dread. The one thing I swore I wouldn't do – draw attention to myself, so that Snow would have no reason to hurt Annie – I just did. I don't know how it didn't occur to me when I was filming the propos that they would of course be seen by the Capitol, by Snow. I want to blame it on my admittedly faulty reasoning of late, but all I can think now is that once Snow is done tormenting Peeta for this, he'll turn his attention to Annie.

Finally Capitol regains complete control, and Snow turns to Peeta. "After tonight's little demonstration," he says silkily, "do you have any parting thoughts for Miss Everdeen?"

Peeta gets the most curious look on his face, like when you come across someone you haven't seen in years, and their name is on the tip of your tongue as you struggle to remember it. Then he rasps haltingly, "Katniss... how do you think this will end? What will be left? No one is safe. Not in the Capitol. Not in the districts. And you... in 13... dead by morning!"

A peacekeeper strikes him, and as Peeta falls, Snow shouts, "End it!"


	64. Part 5: Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Twelve**

Since pretty much everyone beside Katniss, Haymitch and I have written Peeta off as a traitor, it takes a call of "Shut up!" from Haymitch and some convincing on his and Katniss' parts to assure the others that there is, in fact, a Capitol attack headed for 13. I have no idea where Peeta would have gotten this information, although it does support my mental torture theory. If they thought his mind completely fragmented, then conceivably his torturers might not have thought to temper their words around him.

Coin eventually calls for a complete evacuation to the lower levels, and Boggs steps up to guide Katniss and I down to the deep bunkers. Retreating even further from the surface is not something I'd normally enjoy, but I'm so plagued with guilt over the horrors I may have just inflicted on Annie that it's all I can do to put one foot in front of the other.

Boggs tells us to report to the areas matching our quarters. I go through the motions, following the instructions I find at my compartment to get my emergency supply kit from the Supply Station. Then, once I've unpacked, I crawl into my bunk (cut into the stone wall), tune out the clamor of citizens pouring into the huge room, and retreat into my tormented thoughts.

I'm awakened when the first missile hits 13. We're deep underground, and still the walls shudder and people scream as the bunker missile crashes down on our heads. Luckily, 13 prepared for such an event, and we emerge unscathed.

Over the next few days, bombs continue to hit us, spaced many hours apart so that we never know when the next one is coming. The people of 13 and 12 behave in an exemplary fashion, keeping their wits about them, following the emergency protocol, eating and bathing when directed. There's some commotion over near Compartment E – something about a cat and a flashlight – but I don't pay much attention. I spend the three days after my incredibly ill-advised participation in the propos curled up in my bunk, blanket over my head, using every once of willpower to stop myself from sliding back into that state of catatonic bliss I entered when I found out Natare was dead.

By the third night I'm tired of crying, so I turn on my light and pull out my rope. I tie and untie it, trying to calculate if it's long enough to fashion a viable noose. Then I hear footsteps coming my way through the hundreds of sleeping people, and see that Katniss has come to join me.

Her face is drawn and pale. I beckon her up onto my bunk, scooting back to give her space to sit. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"I just figured out why Snow is keeping Peeta alive, when he's so obviously a liability," Katniss whispers. "It's because Snow doesn't want information from him – he's just keeping Peeta so that he can torture him whenever I step out of line. Finnick, every time I raise my voice against the Capitol, Peeta pays for it!" She looks down, tears dripping from her eyes down onto her clasped hands.

I'm silent for a long time, not sure how to respond. It continues to astonish me how innocent she's capable of being – not that this is a bad thing. Her ignorance allowed her to help propel the rebellion to greater heights, whereas I am hobbled by my knowledge. Although now, I suppose, we're both in the same boat.

She suddenly looks up at me, and I see real understanding in her eyes. "This is what they're doing to you with Annie, isn't it?"

I can't help but give a wry grin at that. "Well, they didn't arrest her because they thought she'd be a wealth of rebel information. They know I'd never have risked telling her anything like that. For her own protection."

"Oh, Finnick," Katniss says miserably. "I'm so sorry."

"No," I offer. In the face of Katniss' sorrow, I'm able to push aside my own grief to help her deal with hers. I suppose I've always been this way – probably the reason why I've survived as long as I have. When push comes to shove, I can bury my feelings in order to tackle a problem. "I'm sorry that I didn't warn you somehow," I add. "They'll figure out he doesn't know anything pretty fast. And they won't kill him if they think they can use him against you."

"You did warn me, though. On the hovercraft. Only when you said they'd use Peeta against me, I thought you meant like bait. To lure me into the Capitol somehow."

I can't even remember the conversation she's talking about. Everything between the point I broke out of the arena and waking up in 13 is a blur. "I shouldn't have said even that," I tell her, trusting that she's telling the truth. "It was too late to be of any help to you. Since I hadn't warned you before the Quarter Quell, I should've shut up about how Snow operates. It's just that I didn't understand when I met you. After your first Games, I thought the whole romance was an act on your part. We all expected you'd continue that strategy. But it wasn't until Peeta hit the force field and nearly died that I..."

Katniss peers at me curiously. "That you what?"

"That I knew I'd misjudged you. That you do love him. I'm not saying in what way. Maybe you don't know yourself. But anyone paying attention could see how much you care about him."

We sit in silence, Katniss staring at my hands while I knot and untie the rope. "How do you bear it?" she asks quietly.

I can't remember the last time I was asked such a ridiculous question. "I don't, Katniss! Obviously, I don't. I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there's no relief in waking." She gets an intrigued gleam in her eyes. "Better not to give into it," I add forcefully. "It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart. The more you can distract yourself, the better. First thing tomorrow, we'll get you your own rope. Until then, take mine."

She grabs the rope and disappears off into the dark. I stare down at my empty hands, wondering how I'll distract myself now. I end up lying down and pulling the blanket over my head, counting the threads. Sleep is a long time in coming, and it is no respite when it does.

When the bombs stop dropping for 24 hours, it's time to go back up to our compartments. Unfortunately, the bombs have destroyed all the compartments, so we have to relocate to new ones that haven't been hit. Before we can do this, however, Boggs ushers Katniss, Gale, and I out of line and down to Special Defense into a room identical to the Command Room – which, I assume, has been destroyed in the bombing.

All the leaders of the rebellion sit around the table, clutching cups of hot coffee. I haven't had coffee since before the Games. The smell is intoxicating. "We need all four of you suited up and above ground," Coin says. "You have two hours to get footage showing the damage from the bombing, establish that Thirteen's military unit remains not only functional but dominant, and, most important, that the Mockingjay is still alive. Any questions?"

I think I'm actually drooling from the coffee's smell. "Can we have a coffee?" I ask.

Coin nods, and the cups are passed around. I immediately start sipping, foregoing cream and sugar in favor of straight up caffeine. Within seconds of the coffee hitting my tongue, I can feel my mind growing clearer, more alert.

Katniss sits beside me, staring disdainfully at her coffee. I get the feeling that she must not be used to its bitter taste. I grab the cream and slosh some into her cup. Then I take a few sugar cubes and offer them to her. As I do this, I remember that this was how we first met. "Want a sugar cube?" I ask seductively, wiggling my eyebrows. Katniss smiles softly, and I drop a few cubes into her cup. "It improves the taste," I assure her.

As we get to our feet to go suit up for our trip to the surface, I catch Gale glowering at me. I'm at a loss as to why, until I realize that my interactions with Katniss could hypothetically be viewed as flirtatious. If he had any idea what was really going on, of course, he'd feel like an idiot for even suspecting such a thing. I decide to just ignore him.

Then, after Katniss leaves, Gale grabs my arm before I can follow. "Can I talk to you?" he asks.

The last thing I want to do at the moment is have a confrontation with Katniss' jealous quasi-boyfriend, but I decide to go along with it. Might as well get this over with. "Sure," I say pleasantly. We walk out of the room, and end up in a small offshoot corridor that is deserted. "What did you want to say?"

Gale crosses his arms and takes on an aggressive stance. "I want to know what you're doing with Katniss."

I smile politely. "I'm being her friend, Hawthorne. Seeing as you're one yourself, I would have thought you'd recognize the signs better."

"That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it," Gale snaps, getting up in my face. He jabs his finger into my chest. "I see the way you look at her. And now she's visiting you in the night, letting you sweeten her coffee... you think I don't see what's going on here?"

I contemplate punching him, but even though I've got height and weight on him, I've also been basically lounging around for the last few weeks, while Gale's been training vigorously. Also, Katniss might not handle us fighting very well, and she's screwed up enough as it is. "Look," I say patiently. "You love her. I get it. And you've spent the last year watching her make out with another guy on public television. It's understandable that, now that you have her to yourself, you're getting territorial. So let me assure you that I already have someone I love, I'm not interested in Katniss, and our relationship is purely platonic."

Gale glares up at me for a few long seconds, weighing my words. "She's been through so much," he finally says, stepping back to give me some space. "I just don't want her to get hurt anymore."

"I'm not the one hurting her," I remind him.

"No, I suppose not." He gives a caustic laugh. "You must think I'm an insufferable ass."

"I think you're firm in your convictions, and care deeply about Katniss," I correct him. "You're a decent enough guy, Gale, even if you have trouble showing it when you're around me."

We shake hands, not friends, but at least no longer enemies, and part ways.


	65. Part 5: Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Thirteen**

We go up to the surface – Katniss and her camera crew, Plutarch and Haymitch, Gale and I. Cressida, the director of the shoot, brings us to the Justice Building. Everything around us is in ruins, ash blankets the ground... it looks, well, like the Capitol bombed us for several days and left only destruction in their wake.

As we approach the entrance, where Katniss will be filming, Gale notices something – there are roses scattered across the ground. They reek, and I recognize the smell instantly from my visits to the presidential mansion. These are a gift from Snow. The question is, who are they for?

One glance at Katniss' stricken face, and I can tell they're for her. The others look perplexed, though, so she explains how they have special meaning to her, how Snow undoubtedly sent them to unhinge her even more. Plutarch has a crew box them up and cart them below ground to study them.

Cressida sets Katniss up in front of the camera, and urges her to give a short speech, assure the districts that she's still alive and fighting. But Katniss falters, and I know why. She's like me now – she's too scared of the consequences her words will bring to the person she loves.

Eventually, Cressida has to say, "Cut." Katniss just can't do the line. "What's wrong with her?" Plutarch whispers, directed at basically anyone who might know what's going on in her head.

"She's figured out how Snow's using Peeta," I say softly.

Almost everyone present gives a great sigh of regret, because they know that Katniss will be about as useful as me, now. They hurry to embrace Katniss, but she only wants comfort from Haymitch. He sits her down away from the group, talks to her quietly while she breaks down. I can't hear most of it, but then she says, "Did you see? How weird he acted? What are they... doing to him? It's my fault!"

She gets hysterical, and Haymitch beckons one of the medics over to sedate her. Hearing this admission of guilt from her, though, reminds me of my own horrible situation with Annie. I start to shake. The needle brings welcome relief.

I awaken to Katniss' face hovering over mine. By the white walls and feel of the starched sheets beneath me, I gather that I'm back in the hospital. This somewhat annoys me, as I so recently managed to get out of this depressing place. Then I remember Katniss' breakdown, triggering my own breakdown, and get the sinking feeling that my recovery has suffered yet another setback.

But why did Katniss wake me up, when I was so happily trapped in my drug-induced stupor? "Boggs has assembled a team to rescue Peeta and Annie," she says worriedly. "They're in Capitol right now. Haymitch says he doesn't know if they're even still alive, or if the team has any chance of success, but... well, that's what's happening." She looks down. "I didn't want to face it alone."

The first thing I feel is terror – not at the idea of seeing Annie again, of course, no matter what condition she's in, but that this is it. This is the rescue mission. Today I will find out if Annie is alright, what happened to her, if she's even still alive. But then I realize that this is the best possible thing that could have happened. "Don't you see, Katniss, this will decide things. One way or the other. By the end of the day, they'll either be dead or with us. It's... it's more than we could hope for!"

I can't remember the last time I felt this relieved. Whatever the outcome, I don't have to live in fear anymore. If Annie's dead, I can help the rebellion however they need, then volunteer for some suicide mission and go join her in the afterlife. And if she's alive... we can be together. Not just hiding in the shadows, keeping our love a secret, because it doesn't matter anymore if Capitol finds out about us. What more could they possibly do?

Haymitch arrives, and announces that we still need footage of the 13 bombing. He says that, if we film it quickly, Beetee can air it in Capitol and hopefully keep them distracted while the rescue operation goes down.

"Yes," I agree. "A distraction. A decoy, of sorts."

"What we really need is something so riveting that even President Snow won't be able to tear himself away. Got anything like that?" Haymitch is looking at Katniss when he says this, but then his eyes flicker my way. Something so riveting that Snow won't be able to tear himself away? I've got enough secrets about him, about the Capitol, locked up in my head that would throw the entire city into chaos. But to reveal these secrets would be to reveal how I got them, and I don't know if I'm ready to admit that I was a glorified sex slave.

We head up to the surface, and Katniss gives a touching interview about how she first met Peeta, along with a declaration of her freedom from the Capitol's oppression. It isn't her finest speech, but it's very good, and everyone present – me, Haymitch, Plutarch, the camera crew, the security team – applaud when she's done.

Then Plutarch calls Haymitch and I over. Based on what Haymitch said earlier, I have a pretty good idea what he's going to ask me. That doesn't make me anymore eager to hear it. "Finnick," Plutarch says abruptly. "We need to distract Snow and the Capitol. Katniss was brilliant. But that story was five minutes, tops. We need something juicier. We need your secrets."

"His secrets," Haymitch scowls. "You mean making the boy out his secret life in front of the entirety of Panem."

"I mean telling his story, just like Katniss did," Plutarch retorts. "I know you can't like the idea of people knowing about your... situation, Finnick, but this is Annie we're talking about. The rescue attempt is today, and we need every advantage we can get."

I've never exactly been ashamed of my man-whore persona, but I never thought I would have to share it with all of Panem either. Still, if it will help Annie... "I'll do it," I say, nodding. "If you think it will help."

"If you tell the camera even a fraction of the rumors you've told me, every person in Capitol – Snow included – will be glued to their television sets."

I go to sit in front of the camera. Haymitch trails behind me, still glowering. "You don't have to do this," he insists.

"Yes, I do," I say. "If it will help her. I'm ready."

And so I talk. I explain how I came to be the most sought-after bed companion in the Capitol, and how Snow threatened to kill my loved ones if I didn't comply. My tone is removed, detached, but I force myself to keep talking, because this isn't about me, it's about Annie. As I talk, I see Katniss' eyes rounding, watch as she finally begins to understand me. I see regret in her eyes, although I can't imagine why. She could hardly have guessed about my lurid past, so any conclusions she drew about me were perfectly within her rights.

Then I start into the secrets – the decade of stories of incest, and murder, and betrayal, and arson, and greed, and back-stabbing that I have been collecting, saving up for exactly such a moment. No one receives a reprieve. I lay it all out, and I can imagine my legion of lovers pale and shaking, watching helplessly as I reveal all the secrets they've kept hidden for so long.

I finish off with my story of President Snow. I could have started off with him, to really get people hooked, but then Snow wouldn't have had a reason to keep watching. And I want him focused on his TV, because every second he's watching the screen means another extra second Annie has to escape.

The District 13 rebels watching me speak are interested but not enthralled – they don't know the people I'm talking about. The Capitol rebels, on the other hand, gape at me for the entire hour that I talk. Sometimes they start whispering to each other when a particularly juicy secret comes to light. Even Plutarch gives a shocked gasp a few times, apparently surprised that he missed a particular secret. I don't know why he's so surprised.

I finally draw to a close, but everyone is too busy processing my words to do anything. Finally, I say, "Cut".

Katniss doesn't say a word to me – I think she's in shock from discovering the real me. I briefly wonder if she'll be disgusted by me, because of the things I had to do to get those secrets, but then I feel foolish for even thinking such a thing possible. Katniss isn't that kind of person.

Plutarch pulls me off to the side as the crew packs up and heads back underground. "You did well," he says. "I know that wasn't easy."

"I've never wanted peoples' pity," I say. "And now I'm going to be bombarded by it. Tell me it was worth it."

"It was," he assures me. "Your little distraction just upped the mission success rate by a good 40%. Not to mention that it will sow significant discord in the Capitol when it airs. I wouldn't be surprised if they riot against Snow."

"They won't riot," I say tiredly.

"We can hope," Plutarch says. "Let's head back down. Why don't you and Katniss wait in Special Defense, and I'll send word as soon as I learn of the fate of our rescue party."

So we wait, Katniss and I. We tie knots, practice with our special weapons, talk about unimportant things, and just generally do our best to pass the time without losing it and having a breakdown. She looks close, and I know I'm no better.

Then 3:00 rolls around, and Beetee launches his airtime assault. Either he's getting better, or the Capitol just really wants to hear my speech, because he manages to get most of my speech out, and the entirety of my story about Snow gets through.

Beetee throws up his hands in relief when the whole thing is over. "Let it go! If they're not out of there by now, they're all dead." He turns to Katniss and me. "It was a good plan, though. Did Plutarch show it to you?"

He takes us to the next room and tells us his plan. I'm too busy being wracked with terror for Annie to pay much attention to anything he says. It's actually a wonder I'm still standing at all. After the plan, Katniss and I try to get into Command to wait for news there, but they've blockaded the door – something about official war business. So Katniss and I return to Special Defense, make knots, and wait.

Eventually I notice that my fingers are bleeding from all the knots I've been tying with my rough rope. The sight of the blood unnerves me, and then my mind goes to Annie and her probable torture, and then I just lose it. Unable to bear even moving, I crouch down, wrap my arms around my head, and try to stop myself from thinking of all the worst possible outcomes of the rescue mission.

An indeterminate amount of time later – several hours, at least – Haymitch walks in. "They're back. We're wanted in the hospital."

"What do you mean, we're wanted?" Katniss demands. "Are they alright? Is anyone hurt? Did anyone die? Did they get Peeta? Is he—"

"That's all I know," Haymitch snaps.

The only words that really make it through to me are "back" and "hospital". Could Haymitch possibly sound more ominous? After all this time waiting to see Annie, my legs refuse to work. I don't want to go in there, don't want to find out that the woman I love is dead, or dying. I just want to stay here in blissful oblivion.

Luckily, Katniss is on the case. She takes my hand and pulls me along behind her, leading me like a little boy through the halls of 13 and up to the hospital. When we get inside, I'm almost bowled over by the chaos – doctors run here and there, tending the wounded who are wheeled past us in beds or chairs, nurses carry stacks of towels, and the stench of blood is all-encompassing.

Johanna is wheeled past us, looking so unlike herself that it takes me a moment to recognize her. Her head is shaved, her skin is covered with lurid purple bruises and pus-filled scabs, and she looks like she hasn't eaten in weeks. I start to move towards Johanna's side... and then I hear her.

"Finnick!"

Recognizing Annie's sweet voice, I turn towards the sound, not quite believing that it could actually be her. And then I see her, racing towards me clad in nothing but a bedsheet, long hair tangled, sea-green eyes swimming with tears of joy. "Finnick!" she shrieks.

People jump out of the way as she races towards me, and I get my arms open just in time for her to crash into me, knocking me back against the wall. I wrap my arms around her, crushing her to me, pressing kisses to her hair, never wanting to let her go. From how tightly she holds me, I know that she never wants to be let go either. And I vow that we'll never be apart again.

**A/N: Part 5 is dedicated to Hahukum Konn, without whom I would never have had access to the source material, and therefore would have never been able to continue the story!**


	66. Part 6: Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

Part 6: End of the World

**Chapter One**

I don't know how long we stay like this, enfolded in each others' arms, pressed up against the hospital wall while chaos reigns around us. Long enough to see Katniss rushed past us on a gurney, hacking and coughing while doctors hover over her. There are lurid purple bruises on her neck that look like hand prints.

Snagging Haymitch's arm as he hurries by, I demand, "What happened?"

His eyes barely even flicker my way. "Peeta attacked her. We think he's been brainwashed."

"Is she alright?"

He gives a bitter laugh. "She'll pull through, like she always does."

And then they're gone.

I feel something tighten around my shoulders, and realize that Annie is still clinging to me. "Finnick?" she asks, a tremor of fear in her voice.

"It's alright," I tell her, forgetting all about Katniss when I remember that I have Annie back. "Come on, let's get out of here." I pause, running my eyes over her body. She doesn't look injured, but I know very well that mental injuries can be far worse than physical ones. "Unless you want to stay?"

She shakes her head, gazing up into my eyes. "They didn't hurt me," she says softly.

Again, not physically. And Annie wasn't exactly stable to begin with. Still, I suspect my amateur psychiatry attempts will work better away from the hospital, so I take her hand and lead her through the sea of nurses and doctors and patients and out of the hospital.

We walk in silence through the twisting warren of underground passageways, taking a meandering route that will avoid all the populated areas. Until I figure out what damage Snow did to Annie's mind this time, I don't want her near a large crowd of people. Back when she first returned from the Hunger Games, such a thing would have sent her into either a hysterical fit or a catatonic state, and I don't want to give her the chance to do so once more.

We enter my living quarters – a small, windowless room with a bunk bed, a table, and a chair. Annie looks around for a few seconds, then eases herself down onto the bed. I stand uncertainly by the door, not sure if I should sit beside her. She's always been comfortable in my presence, even after her mental meltdown, but if Snow managed to turn Peeta against Katniss, there's no telling what he might have done to Annie.

"You look nervous," she says quietly, gazing up at me with her big, beautiful sea-green eyes. My own sea-green eyes are famous in the Capitol, but they don't hold a candle to Annie's. Although maybe that's just my all-encompassing, eternal love for her talking.

"I don't know what to do," I admit. "You say you weren't hurt, but..."

"I wasn't," she maintains, and actually smiles slightly. "They tried, but I think they realized there wasn't much they could to do me, beyond what the Hunger Games already accomplished."

Annie has always been aware that her mind is broken, but she's never been so frank about it before. I'm not sure whether to cautiously hope it means she's improving, or be terrified by this new development. I sink down to my knees in front of her, grasping her hands in mine. "So they didn't touch you?"

"My cell was near the other people they captured," Annie admits. She laughs softly, although I know it's just a symptom of her fragile mental state, not any actual amusement on her part. "The rebels."

The rebels. Which means that when they were inevitably tortured, she would have heard every scream. "Oh, Annie..."

She starts to shake. "The crying, the screaming... Finnick, it was so..."

I pull her off the bed and into my arms. She presses her face – wet now from tears – into my chest. "It's alright," I whisper soothingly, stroking her hair. "It's all over now. You're here, you're safe, and I love you."

To my shock, she flings her arms around my neck. "I love you too," she sobs, clinging to me like the world is crumbling around her, and I'm the last piece of solid rock on the planet. "I was so scared."

I hold her tight and say nothing.

"Scared... of you," she says.

Her words are a violent electric shock through my system. I stiffen involuntarily. "What are you talking about?" I demand, far more harshly than I intended. When have I ever given her reason to fear me? What did Snow do to her, that she would think I could possibly hurt her?

Annie gasps. "Not like that! No, no, never like that."

I sag in relief. "Then like what?"

"That you would give up on me," she whispers. "That you would find someone else."

I have to laugh at this. The idea that I could do such a thing is simply too absurd not to laugh. "Annie, love, you are quite literally the only reason I have for living. I would rather kill myself than spend a single day in this world without you in it."

She smiles tremulously. "Really?"

"Cross my heart," I say, kissing her lightly on the nose.

We stay like that for what has to be at least half an hour, Annie content to simply be held, me content to simply hold her. At some point I look down at see that her eyes are closed, her even breathing indicating that she's fallen asleep. Shifting her in my arms, I carefully get up to my knees and lift her onto the bed.

She shivers slightly, so I grab the thick blanket folded at the end of the bunk and lay it over her. As I bend over to tuck the covers around her shoulders, I suddenly can't keep my distance any longer. I climb over her and lay down beside her, wrapping my arms around her waist. She murmurs my name and cuddles against me.

For the first time in months, I get a good night's sleep.

I wake up the next morning, and realize immediately that something is wrong. It takes me a few seconds to figure out what's different. I'm not screaming.

I always scream when I wake up, so what has changed today? Again, understanding is a while in coming, no doubt thanks to my fuzzy-from-sleep mind. Then the reason for my unexpected peace and contentment makes a pleased sound and shifts in my arms. Annie.

It suddenly occurs to me that we have nothing to be afraid of anymore. Snow can't touch us here, the Capitol has no influence, and if Plutarch is to be believed, we will soon be on the winning side of the war. I was so terrified for Annie that somehow I missed the fact that we are now, miraculously, free.

Annie is still sleeping soundly, so I carefully disentangle our limbs and climb out of the bed. Since I never took off my clothes last night, all I have to do to make myself presentable is pull on some shoes and run a hand through my hair. I ease open the door and slip outside into the empty hallway.

I've heard people complain before about the schedules inked onto their arms every day that they have to adhere to without fail. Katniss always has one on her arm, and I've seen her glaring down at it more than once. I somehow doubt she follows it. They've never even tried to give me one, which is great, as I'm never expected to be anywhere. Still, I have to wonder why I was exempt. Because I was considered even more mentally unbalanced than Katniss Everdeen? I wince at the thought.

As I head towards Command, I wonder what Annie will think when she hears about my breakdown. I know she won't think less of me for it, but I can't help but worry it will change the way that she treats me. Now that she's back with me, I can feel the weeks of sorrow and anger and guilt and frustration just seeping out of my pores, like a toxin my body is finally expelling. But I somehow doubt that people will believe I'm cured just because Annie is suddenly returned to me.

Command is bustling in the aftermath of the successful raid last night. Fulvia stands with Plutarch near the door, and from the way Fulvia's hand keeps straying to her neck, I decide they're probably talking about Katniss. What did Peeta do, try to strangle her? Snow must have done a number on his mind, because Peeta loved Katniss about as much as I love Annie. I'm suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude that I was saved from that arena, because if Snow screwed me up like he did Peeta, and I hurt Annie, I could never forgive myself. Assuming I even retained the capacity at that point to feel guilt.

"Morning," I say brightly, grabbing a muffin and then moving to Plutarch's side, clapping a friendly hand on his back.

The expressions on Plutarch and Fulvia's faces are priceless. I suppose it's been some time since they've seen me genuinely happy. "I take it your reunion with Miss Cresta went well," Plutarch says, and Fulvia laughs.

"My relationship with Annie is none of your damn business," I respond cheerfully. "I actually came to ask you about the rescue mission."

Plutarch and Fulvia exchange a guarded look. "Well, my boy," says Plutarch, "what do you want to know?"

"Off the top of my head? What conditions were the captives being held in? What happened to Johanna? What the _hell _happened to Peeta? Oh, and why didn't you tell us about it until the op was already underway?"

"The 'op'?" Fulvia repeats, arching an eyebrow. "Look who's suddenly a military man."

"Just answer the questions," I say politely. I'm overflowing with patience today, aren't I?

Plutarch makes a discreet "back down" motion with his hand to Fulvia, which I manage to see despite his best efforts. Then he gives me the rundown. "All three prisoners were in standard cells. Johanna's floor was covered in a thin layer of water. We suspect they might have electrocuted her as part of the torture – possibly even doing it at random intervals so she was living in a constant state of terror."

"Shit."

"Indeed," Plutarch says grimly. "Peeta acted more or less normally during the rescue... until he saw Katniss and turned feral. The doctors think he was hijacked – injected with tracker jacker venom that altered his thought patterns and makes him think his best friends are his worst enemies."

"Curable?" I ask.

"Possibly. The doctors have him sedated at the moment – they'll start more tests when he wakes up in a few hours. And Annie was simply sitting in her cell when they found her, Finnick. There were no signs of physical trauma." He puts a fatherly hand on my shoulder. "We don't think Snow touched her, son."

"But why?" I demand. "Why keep her and not do anything to her?"

"He didn't have to," Fulvia barks. "When you didn't support the rebellion, Snow knew that you got the message. What was the point of torturing her when you were already out of the picture? It's not as if the girl knew anything."

"The propos..." I begin.

"He was busy trying to take down Katniss by that point," Plutarch reminds me. "Even you will admit that, of the two of you, she is the far greater threat."

Of course she is. She's the Mockingjay. "Then he didn't hurt her... at all?" The idea is so unbelievable that I can barely make myself say the words.

"A shattered mind forced into solitary confinement, plagued night and day with the screams of her fellow prisoners, is torture in and of itself," Plutarch says.

"Don't remind me," I sigh.

"If that's all...?"

"Thanks," I say, nodding to the pair. "I don't think I have to tell you how much I appreciate what you did for me. For Annie."

They beam smiles at me. "You are our friend, Finnick," Fulvia says. The warmth in her voice takes me aback, because she's usually an ice queen around me. "More than that, you are a hero of the rebellion. You deserve this chance at happiness."

Plutarch nods. "You do."

There being no real response to such a declaration, I give them a tight smile, and get the hell out of Command before I do something undignified, like start crying. Their words do remind me that Annie will be waking up soon and wondering where I am, though, so I pick up the pace and hurry back to my room.

As I round the corner and stride toward my door, I see it open. Haymitch walks out.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"She needed to know," Haymitch says.

I grip his forearm tightly with my hand, causing him to wince. Apparently I'm still strong enough to hurt him, despite my weeks of hospitalization. "She needed to know _what_?"

"About your little meltdown," he says. Haymitch was never one to dance around the subject.

"So you thought you should be the one to tell her?" I shout.

"I came here to talk to _you_, see how _you_ were doing," Haymitch says unrepentantly. "Instead I found your girlfriend, curled up in a ball on the bed, looking terrified. She said you were gone. I told her that you probably just ran out to get something. She asked who I was. I told her. She asked how you were while she was in Capitol. I told her. And then I left." He straightens and looks me square in the eye. "You got a problem with that, pretty boy?"

I'd almost forgotten his nickname for me, it's been so long since he's used it. It also deflates my anger. "Get out of here," I sigh. "I need to talk to Annie."

Haymitch turns to leave, then pauses. "I didn't mean to step over the line," he mutters gruffly.

I want to snap at him again, but despite all our issues, Haymitch is one of the best friends I have left. "Forget it," I say.

He nods and strides off down the corridor.


	67. Part 6: Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Two**

Annie basically flies across the room at me when I step inside my quarters. I catch her and embrace her. "Sorry I left."

"It's okay," she murmurs.

"I won't do it again," I swear. "Not without telling you first."

We sit on the bed, and Annie looks down awkwardly at her hands. "Haymitch said something about you... what happened to you after the Games."

"What did he say, exactly?"

"That you... had a mental breakdown, like I did," Annie whispers. "Because of me."

True enough, although the whole thing was a bit more complicated than that. "I was terrified that Snow would hurt you," I admit. "And I was terrified of doing something that would make him hurt you. I'm not going to lie, love, it was a bad time. But then I realized that you would want me to keep on fighting, no matter what happened."

"Peeta told us about how the Capitol feed was hacked into," Annie says. "He said he thought he heard your voice."

"I recorded some propaganda videos for the rebellion," I agree. "It was the only way I could really help, without drawing so much attention to myself that Snow would take it out on you."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that because of me," she says miserably. From the way she's beginning to shake, I know that she's headed straight for a breakdown. So I grab her shoulders, turn her to face me, and plant a firm kiss on her lips. Annie blinks in obvious confusion. "What was that for?"

"My new way of punishing you for saying ridiculous things," I explain with a grin.

She smiles uncertainly. "That doesn't sound very effective."

"Sure it is," I counter, waving a hand obligingly. "Go ahead. Say something ridiculous."

Annie considers this for a moment. "President Snow is a nice man."

I smack my lips against hers, eliciting a giggle. "Again."

"Um... squid is delicious?"

I roll my eyes. "The idea is to say things that _aren't _true, love."

"But I hate squid!"

"It's impossible to hate squid," I declare, "it being the most delicious food in all of Panem."

This time it is Annie who laughs and kisses me.

Annie and I stay locked up in our compartment for the better part of the next four days, getting up to all sorts of naughty, unspeakable things that leave us gasping for air and wanting more. I honestly hadn't expected Annie to be up for a physical relationship so soon, but our time apart seems to have actually strengthened her desire for me. That's not to say that I'm not on the same page, of course; there isn't a single person in Panem who could have dragged me out of that room. Well, unless Coin herself showed up to tell me she had Snow in the next room, and wanted me to put a bullet through his head. Then I might be willing to part with Annie for a few minutes.

Far more important than our physical reunion is our emotional one. As the days pass, whenever we aren't making love we're talking. Talking about love, talking about life, talking about the people we've lost, about the future to come. Annie still has occasional breakdowns, but it's easier to pull her out of them than it's ever been before, and my own personal demons have of course vanished ever since Annie's rescue. I still get the occasional nightmare, but it's hard to be terrified about Snow hurting Annie when she's sleeping right beside me.

It takes four days, though, for one of us to draw a conclusion that has us both reeling from the implications.

Halfway through a make-out session, Annie suddenly pulls away from me, a wild look in her eyes. Fearing another mental break, I go instantly on full alert. "Annie, honey, what is it?"

"Finnick," she whispers. "We're free."

Since we have discussed this particularly wonderful notion multiple times, this revelation hardly comes as a surprise. "Sure we are," I agree. "Although I'm not sure why—"

"Finnick!" Annie overrides me, suddenly beaming. "We can get married!"

This concept is so foreign to me that I just sit and gape at her for almost a full minute, unable to process the idea. Then someone hits the play button in my head, and suddenly I'm squeezing Annie tightly to me, overcome by elation. "We can get married!"

We venture outside for the first time in days, hurrying down to Command, where I know Plutarch will be. If I knew someone who could legally marry us, we would have gone straight to them instead, but since my knowledge on this subject is somewhat lacking, I figure Plutarch is the next best option. He's sitting alone in Command when we arrive.

"Plutarch!" I shout as I barge into the room, Annie half a step behind me clutching my hand tightly. His head jerks up at the unexpected noise.

"Finnick," he greets, then bobs his head towards Annie. "Miss Cresta. It is wonderful to see you two finally out and about. We were getting rather concerned." He flips a folder shut – undoubtedly top secret plans that we're not authorized to see. Talk about paranoid. Who does he think we're going to tell?

"What's your opinion on weddings?" I say.

"Everyone loves a wedding," he smiles. Then he stops, stares at Annie and me, and suddenly gasps in delight. "You don't mean it?"

I drop to my knees in front of Annie who, despite this being her idea, still blushes and shifts her feet awkwardly when she realizes what's happening. "Annie," I declare. "You are the love of my life. My soulmate. You are the reason I live, my inspiration, my perfect match. Circumstances forced us to keep our relationship a secret, but now I want the whole world to know how much I love you, and that we belong to each other and to no one else. Will you marry me?"

Plutarch bursts into tears.

Annie shoots a startled glance at him, then turns back to me with the most brilliant smile I have ever seen. "Of course I will!" she cries, falling down to her knees so that we're now the same height.

"I don't have a ring," I say apologetically.

"Not to worry, not to worry!" Plutarch babbles through his tears, rushing forward to throw his arms around us. "We will find you two lovebirds the most beautiful engagement ring the world has ever known!"

"That isn't necessary..." Annie protests softly.

"I will take a personal interest in this matter," Plutarch vows, squeezing Annie and me to his sides as if we are his own children. It's possible that he really does view us in this way, as I can't remember him ever mentioning having a family. "You two will have your wedding, I swear it."

He jumps to his feet and bustles from the room, mumbling something about flower arrangements.

Annie and I kneel on the floor, in shock from how quickly this has all happened. For so long we've despaired that we can never officially be together, what with my Capitol reputation to uphold. But after my little secret-telling session, I've pretty much burned all bridges with my Capitol lovers, meaning that there is now absolutely no reason why Annie and I can't get married.

"Annie," I say breathlessly. "We're going to get married."

She looks dazed. "Are we?"

I kiss her. "We are."

I find out later that the wedding will take place in about a month. There are several reasons for this. First and foremost, they're going to record the entire thing, turn it into a propaganda video to show Capitol how happy we are, and how miserable they're soon going to be in comparison. Second is that Plutarch intends to throw a lavish party, which will take at least a few weeks to put together. And third, they want the Mockingjay to attend, and she's currently off in District 2.

I discover this when I take Annie down to Special Weaponry to show her my trident. That's not innuendo – I'm talking about the special trident that Beetee made for me. After my demonstration, we end up in a garden-like room filled with butterflies, where we find Beetee in his wheelchair, eyes closed and seemingly just enjoying this beautiful room. As Annie gasps in delight and stares around in wonder, Beetee rolls over to me and shakes my hand.

"You're looking well," he says, smiling.

"And to think," I respond. "All it took was rescuing the love of my life from the hands of the evillest man alive."

Beetee laughs, causing a yellow butterfly perched on his head to panic and flutter off into the flowers. "And how is the lovely Annie?"

"Surprisingly okay. I honestly didn't know what to expect." I glance at Annie. She has her arms spread out, and there are at least a dozen butterflies floating around her head. "If anything, she seems better than before."

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," Beetee murmurs.

"I suppose. Speaking of which, what happened to Peeta?" I figure he should have a better idea than Plutarch, being a scientist and all.

Beetee's expression turns grim. "Plutarch mentioned that he talked to you about that. There isn't much else to say. Snow used tracker jacker venom to poison every good memory Peeta has – of his home, his friends, the people he loves. Everyone that Snow knew he had a strong connection to."

"Think he could talk to me?"

"Snow knows you helped him in the arena, so I would imagine his memory of you has been similarly tarnished," Beetee opines. "The worst reaction by far was of course with Katniss. She went to see him again yesterday."

I arch an eyebrow. "_There's _a good idea."

"Indeed," Beetee sighs. "It went about as well as you might expect. Peeta lost it, tried to attack her, accused her of being a mutt. Katniss couldn't handle it, and took the next flight out to District 2."

District 2 is where the peacekeepers are trained. It's basically a militant society, far more interconnected with Capitol than any of the other districts, so it's the only one that's remained on Snow's side. I know immediately why Katniss decided to go there. She wants to work out her frustration and anger over Peeta's condition by throwing herself into the fight. I remember feeling that way once, although now I can barely contemplate even the idea of tearing myself away from Annie's side.

"I heard you and Annie are getting married," Beetee adds, the smile finally returning to his careworn face. "Congratulations. It was a long time in coming."

"It certainly was," I agree, watching as Annie dances and laughs amidst the butterflies. Her joy reminds me of another woman in my life who isn't reacting so well to her imprisonment. "Is Johanna ready for visitors yet? Plutarch mentioned something about electrical torture."

Beetee nods. "We think they kept the floor of her cell covered with water, so they could run an electrical current through it whenever they wanted. Not knowing when the next jolt would come, living in constant fear... it has played its toll on Johanna's mind. The doctors have her sedated and on a morphling drip."

"You'll let me know when she's ready for visitors?" I press. "I'm fairly sure that I'm the only real friend she has left in this world."

"You have my word," Beetee says quietly.


	68. Part 6: Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Three**

Peeta is actually deemed ready for visitors before Johanna. About a week after Katniss flees to 2, Annie and I are eating lunch in the dining room when Plutarch wanders in, spots us, and veers towards us. Now that I'm clearly back in the mentally balanced category, I get the daily schedule tattooed on my arm, as does Annie. The only times we actually follow are the mealtimes, but no one has said anything about it, so we blissfully carry on doing exactly as we please.

"You two are looking well," Plutarch says happily as he draws level with us. Annie smiles shyly up at him, then focuses on her meal. She doesn't like talking to anyone besides myself and Beetee, who is slowly growing on her. Probably something about his wire having saved my life in the arena.

"How can we help you?" I ask, popping a broccoli into my mouth.

"I was hoping for a favor from you, actually, Finnick," Plutarch explains. "You see, Peeta has started to show improvement, and the doctors want to see how he'll react to you."

"Why me?" I demand. "Snow knows I was in the arena with him, my memory will have been one of the first things he corrupted."

"Not necessarily," Plutarch disagrees. "I mean, yes, Peeta's memory of you will certainly have been altered, but the doctors think the results won't be that severe. You see, the greater the emotional connection, the more damage the tracker jacker venom can do. How would you characterize your relationship with Peeta?"

I can see where he's going with this. Sure, I saved Peeta's life a few times, but it's not like the kid is in love with me. At the very most, I'd categorize us as friends, which I tell Plutarch. He nods, as if he expected this response. "So you see, we think that you would be an excellent test for how well he's doing. If Peeta can control himself around you, someone he only really knew for a few days, then we can gradually introduce him to people he knew better."

"So I'm the guinea pig."

"Is that a problem?"

I laugh. "Not particularly."

Annie grabs my arm, eyes wide with fear. "Finnick, what if he hurts you?"

I already have one of her hands clasped in mine, so I use my free arm to pull her close. Kissing her hair, I whisper, "I won't get hurt, love, I swear."

"Real?"

"Real," I promise.

Plutarch and I escort Annie down to Special Weaponry, where Beetee will keep her company during our little experiment. Then we head up to the hospital, where Peeta is being kept in a private room under constant surveillance and heavy guard. Snow couldn't have possibly devised a more horrific way at getting back at Katniss than what he did to Peeta. I have to give him props for being such an evil bastard, although Katniss would probably shoot me if she heard me say that.

Peeta is sitting on his bed when I enter, staring down at his hands and mumbling something to himself. When he looks up, sees me, and lunges at me, Plutarch shouts for the guards. Has Plutarch really forgotten who I am? I nimbly sidestep Peeta, then grab his arm as he rushes past, twist it up behind his back, and slam him against the wall.

"Relax, before I make you," I advise, holding him still as he thrashes wildly.

The doctors burst into the room, wielding needles dripping with sedatives. "It's fine," I tell them. "We're just getting acquainted. I'll let you know if I need anything."

They exchange uncertain looks, clearly not trusting the word of someone who, up until a few weeks ago, was nearly as far gone as the raving lunatic he's now currently subduing. Plutarch comes to my rescue. "You heard Odair," he snaps. "Out."

As soon as the door is shut behind me, I release Peeta and step away to put some space between us. Peeta rounds on me and looks ready to attack me again. "Try it," I suggest. "Surely it can't go any worse than the first time."

This gives the blonde teen pause. "What... do you want?" he rasps. The words seem very forced, like it's taking all his willpower not to lunge at me again.

I raise my hands in a non-threatening gesture. This is like being in the arena again, except instead of a crazed, bloodthirsty tribute, I'm facing... actually, that's kind of exactly what I'm facing, isn't it? "I'm just here to talk, Peeta," I say soothingly. "What do you think I'm here for?"

Peeta laughs bitterly. "Damned if I know. According to my memories, you tried to kill me multiple times, so I'd guess you're here to have another go. Except that the doctors swear I can't trust my memories. So you tell me, Odair. What do you want?"

"Plutarch – you know who that is?" Peeta nods jerkily. "He said you were starting to recover, and wanted to test it out on me. If I can sit through a session with you and not get my throat throttled, they'll try getting you to see other people."

"People like Katniss Everdeen?" Peeta snarls, the crazy in his eyes intensifying.

"Katniss Everdeen has never, nor will ever, be a threat to you," I say firmly. "I don't know if they told you this, but I had my own little brush with insanity a few weeks back. The trick is not to give up hope, or you're well and truly screwed."

"Hope," Peeta snorts. "What does that even mean?"

"Hope that you can recover from all the crap Snow put you through. Hope that the nightmare that is your life will one day be bearable again. Hope that you'll find someone, someday, willing to put up with you and give you a reason to go on living."

"Nice sugar-coating."

I make an exaggerated glance towards the door. "Sorry, Plutarch, did you want me to fill this kid's head with fairy tales and lollipops? No? Right." I turn back to Peeta. "Look. None of this is your fault, no one's denying that. You're sick, I get it. But _you_ need to get one thing through that tracker-jacker addled mind of yours. You don't hate Katniss Everdeen. You _love _her."

"Like hell I do," he snarls.

"You love her," I repeat. "Enough to sacrifice yourself multiple times to keep her alive. Enough to risk torture to warn her when her life was in danger."

"I've seen the tapes," Peeta says. "Didn't look like she gave much of a damn about me."

"That's because she didn't – not at first, anyway. But then she got her act together, and I guarantee you that she loves you as much as you love her. Or should I say 'loved', since you've apparently forgotten entirely about the girl of your dreams?"

Peeta suddenly sinks down, clutching his head. "My memories... I can't..."

I abandon my tough-guy line as sympathy sweeps through me. I carefully reach out a hand towards him, and when he doesn't flinch back, I rest it oh-so-gently on his shoulder. He leans into the touch, as if he's forgotten what human contact feels like. Maybe he has. Then I yank it away when he suddenly claws at me.

"Calm down," I say evenly, waiting for the rage to die down in his eyes. "You're going to be alright. I've known a number of crazies in my life – oh, stop glaring, you're out to lunch and you know it – and I have every confidence that you'll make a full recovery."

"Now you sound like my doctors."

"That's because I'm a genius and you should listen to everything I say."

"So, did I pass?"

I glance at the door again, behind which Plutarch is undoubtedly watching our entire encounter through the cameras. "You'll have to ask people a lot more knowledgeable about this than me. But considering they didn't have to wheel me out on a hospital bed, I'd definitely call this progress."

"Progress," Peeta mutters. "Is that what they're calling it."

Suddenly he starts howling, sinking down to the floor clutching his head, limbs shaking. Recognizing a psychotic break when I see one, I hasten out of the room as the doctors hurry in to sedate him.

Plutarch is waiting for me. "That went well," he says happily, then grimaces. "Except for the last bit."

"Considering what's been done to him, I'm surprised he managed to cling to sanity for that long. Now, where's Johanna?"

Plutarch calls a doctor over, who checks his clipboard. "17C. But you can't go in there yet, Mr. Odair, she hasn't been approved for visitors."

"Alright," I say, giving him a winning smile. "Just thought I'd ask. Bye."

I walk away from them, then promptly turn down the hall towards the private rooms and locate 17C. The guard at the door steps in front of me to block my way into the room. "You can't go in there, sir," she snaps. "The patient is still delusional, a danger to herself and others."

"Do you know who I am?" I ask pleasantly.

She pauses, does a double take, widens her eyes. "Finnick Odair. I watched both your Hunger Games."

Well, that's an opening if I ever saw one. I slip into seductive mode, turning on the charm. "It's always nice to meet an admiring fan. Especially one so easy on the eyes."

"I didn't say admiring," she counters, but the flush to her cheeks says otherwise.

"Is she restrained?" I ask. She nods. "Give me five minutes," I propose. "It's not like she can hurt me if she's tied up. I'm potentially the only living friend she has. At the very least, it will do her good to see that there's someone around who cares about her."

"I don't know..."

I'm impressed despite myself at this woman's sense of duty. I can count on one hand the number of women who were able to resist my advances. And Mags and Natare don't count, since they are – were – family. "Three minutes," I barter, winking. "I won't tell anyone if you don't. It can be our secret."

"Oh, alright," she finally grumbles. I don't know who she's more annoyed with – me, for convincing her, or her, for letting herself be convinced. She steps aside, and I slip past and push open the door.

Johanna is lying on a hospital bed, wrists and ankles in white cuffs much like the ones used to restrain Katniss on our original hovercraft trip to 13. Her eyes are closed, and her face looks a great deal better after a week of healing and medicine. A thin layer of hair covers her head, reminding me of a newborn, although no newborn I've ever seen had such horrific scars crisscrossing their scalp.

"Hey, Johanna," I say quietly, closing the door behind me.

She stirs, opens her eyes, squints up at me. "Odair," she mutters, closing her eyes again. "Took you long enough. Don't know why I'm so shocked, though. You got your precious Annie back – what's little old Johanna got on that?"

"Shut up," I say good-naturedly. I note with relief that she clearly hasn't gone off the deep end like Peeta – although that doesn't mean she isn't teetering on the edge. "Doctors wouldn't let me in to see you. Something about you being a raving lunatic."

Johanna half-smiles at that. I wonder why she's in such a good mood, until I see the morphling drip attached to her arm. "Not raving, just pissed off. Hospitals make me crazy. I need to get out."

"But if you leave, where will you get morphling?"

She scowls at me for calling her bluff. "What do you want, Odair?"

I pull a chair up to her bedside. "Plutarch told me what happened."

"Doubt that."

"Torture," I whisper. "Electrical currents zapping you night and day, never knowing when they would hit you next."

"Figured that out, did they? Think that's how I got these scars on my skull? That was good, old-fashioned knife-work."

I start to imagine what she's proposing, then stop myself. Still, I know Johanna, and I can tell that there's more to the story. "And?"

"Oh, the usual torture staples," she says lightly. "Sleep deprivation, starvation, psychological attacks... damn, almost forgot the rape. Can't leave that one out, it's such a classic."

Why did Snow do all these horrific things to Johanna, and let Annie get off with barely a scratch? Some twisted sense of honor? "I'm sorry." My words are pathetically insufficient, and Johanna is still herself enough to call me on it.

"Go screw yourself, Odair. It wasn't your fault. Wish it was, of course, so I'd have a reason to knock you on your ass."

"Like you need a reason." Against my better judgment, I carefully grasp her hand and squeeze it gently. "Nothing's changed, Johanna. I've got your back, now and always. You know that, right?"

"So visit me more," she challenges.

"Stop acting like a wild animal, so the doctors will let me," I counter.

Her eyes flick to the door. "How'd you get in, anyway?"

I give her my most offended look. "I seduced the guard. It was child's play."

"Man or woman?"

"Woman," I grin. "Not that a man would have stood any more of a chance against my stunning good looks and scintillating wit."

"Probably not," Johanna agrees. Then, "I'm tired."

I lean forward to kiss her forehead. She grimaces, but tolerates it with extraordinary good grace. "Sleep tight."

"Considering my dreams have lately been about getting buried alive, that shouldn't be a problem."

I leave so that I don't have to think of a response.


	69. Part 6: Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Four**

As the weeks pass, I hear news about Katniss and her fight in District 2 from various sources. Plutarch, as one of the leaders of the rebellion, is of course the most knowledgeable, but it's Haymitch that gives me the real insights into her mind. "She's depressed, and lonely, and furious," Haymitch tells me one evening. "They're shunting her from house to house in 2 – nominally to keep her safe, but I doubt she's very good company at the moment."

I think I can guess the reason for this. "What are you telling her about Peeta?"

"The truth."

"You know," I say carefully, "a little optimism never hurt anyone."

"You want me to lie to her?" Haymitch scowls. "They tried to hijack him back – used morphling to associate his bad memories with a calm feeling. All that did was confuse the boy. I wouldn't call that progress, and that's exactly what I told Katniss."

One of the great things about Haymitch is that he always tells it to you straight. But doing so with Katniss, who has a history of overemotional reactions to bad news, may not be the best idea, especially when she's currently in the middle of a war zone. My suggestions to dial back the pessimism, however, are ignored.

I'm completely shocked a few days later when Annie tells me that she's struck up a friendship with, of all people, Johanna. Considering they are basically polar opposites of each other, it takes me a while to puzzle out what draws them together. Their time together in Snow's torture chambers? Their mutual hatred for Capitol? Their shared experience in the arena? Me? I ask her, but Annie can't explain it any more than I can. She tells me that Johanna relaxes her. This only confuses me more, as relaxing is just about the last word I'd use to describe Johanna.

One afternoon, while Annie is visiting with Johanna in the hospital, I head down to Special Defense to check in on Beetee. He's been incognito the last few days, holed up with Gale and a couple of other scientists working on some secret project.

I locate their meeting place without too much difficulty, and when I enter the room I find only Beetee and Gale sitting at a long table covered with diagrams and blueprints. Gale is explaining something using expansive arm gestures while Beetee nods with a serious expression.

"... and then you bring in the reserves in the wings, pinning them in the middle while we rain death on them from above."

"We would have to gain access to the Capitol rooftops for that to work, though," Beetee notes. "That would mean infiltration before we mount the actual attack. I don't know if it's plausible."

Gale shrugs. "Then we'll think of something else."

I clear my throat. "How about bribing one of the Capitol citizens to assassinate Snow? I know a few people that might fit the bill."

Beetee nods to me. "How is Annie?"

"Almost unbelievably well," I say happily. "Oh, and she's decided to befriend Johanna Mason. It's nice to see them getting along."

Gale scowls. "You left them alone together? Mason's being kept in solitary for a reason, Odair. She's dangerous."

"No more dangerous than me," I snap. When Gale tenses, I realize I came off more confrontational then I intended, so I strike a pose, flexing my arms like a weight-lifter, and boast, "I could strangle an ox with these pythons."

Gale relaxes. "The ox might disagree."

"Luckily they can't speak," I say cheerfully. "Or we'd have a whole new issue on our hands."

"What's the word on Katniss?" Gale asks, because he's been shut up down in Special Defense and knows that I chat with Plutarch and Haymitch on a daily basis.

"Slowly but surely spiraling into fury and despair. So, you know, the usual."

"Shut up," Gale growls, on edge again. Kid needs to work on his anger management. "You don't know what she's been through."

This statement is so absurd that I laugh out loud. "Seriously? Other than Peeta and Haymitch, I defy you to name someone who knows what she's been through better than me."

Gale looks ready to give a scathing retort, but Beetee clears his throat pointedly. The miner-turned-revolutionary falters, then shakes his head. "Regardless, it's cruel to make jokes about Katniss like that."

"Jokes keep you sane," I reply.

"We're at war," Gale insists. "There's no room for humor in war."

I have to admire his passion and dedication to his beliefs, but I'm getting tired of having to listen to them. "I'll tell Haymitch to let Katniss know you're the same as always. Stand-offish and stubborn to a fault."

"He may be able to tell her himself," Beetee says. "President Coin has intimated that we may be moving out to District 2 in the next few days."

"Really?" I blink. I haven't heard anything about this. "Why?"

"There's a fortress in 2 called the Nut," the old inventor explains. "The rebels in 2 can't figure out how to crack it – pardon the pun. So President Coin wants to send in the brains."

I consider this, then nod. "Makes sense." Turning to Gale, I add, "Keep an eye on our Mockingjay. You know very well how she likes to get herself into deadly situations."

"I don't need you to tell me that," Gale snaps. I wonder if I'll ever get along with Katniss' boytoy. Not at the rate we're going.

"See you," I say, nodding to Beetee, then leaving before either Gale or I lose it and we start fighting in the middle of Special Defense.

I collect Annie from the hospital, and we head to the dining hall for dinner. Then something so unexpected, so amazing, happens that I can barely process it. We're about to step into the dining room when I hear someone shout, "FINNICK!"

A blur of brown and green streaks towards me, and I let go of Annie's hand just in time for Natare to leap into my arms. I stagger back, and we collapse to the ground in a flurry of tangled limbs.

"Natare!" Annie gasps, hands flying to her mouth. I grab Natare and hug her as tightly to me as physically possible, unable to understand how this miracle has happened.

Natare wriggles free, then sits upright on my chest, grinning down at me. "Heard you went crazy, big brother. What's with that?"

"How are you even alive?" I gape, staring up at her. She looks exactly the same as I saw her... except for her stomach, which bulges outwards slightly. "Are you _pregnant_?"

The grin slides off her face. "This isn't the place to talk."

I seize her arms. "Natare, where are Blake and Mara? Where's your husband?"

"Dead," she says. "Just before the attack, we invited Blake and Mara up to the house to watch the Games. Then I started to feel sick – I didn't realize I was pregnant at the time – so I stepped into the backyard for some fresh air. The next thing I knew, gunfire was ringing through the air, people screaming... I just turned and ran for it, Finnick. I was too scared to do anything else."

"There's nothing you could have done," I assure her, getting to my feet and pulling her with me. Still, my heart sinks, knowing that Mara and Blake are definitely dead. Seeing Annie's uneasy expression, I quickly grab her hand in my free one. "Where have you been all these months?"

"I took your boat, Gemma," Natare explains. "From the fire, and the chaos, I thought Snow was going to destroy the entire district. I just went out to sea and stayed there. A few days ago I came across a fishing boat out as far as me, and they told me that the rebels had secured the district. They told me that you were alive. And so I tracked down the rebel leader for District 4, told him who I was, and they hovercrafted me here this morning."

Annie suddenly gives a strangled cry and rushes forward to hug Natare. As the two girls clutch each other, I wrap my arms around them, forming an emotional, hugging threesome in the middle of the hallway. People trickling in and out of the dining hall cast us curious glances as they walk around us.

We retire to my quarters, since Natare hasn't been assigned any yet. I sit on the chair, Natare and Annie on the bed, as she tells us the story in more detail.

"The first thing I heard wasn't the Peacekeeper rifles," she says. "It was the door slamming open. Then Mara screamed... then gunfire... and then it was just white noise as I ran. I stopped running at the edge of Victor's Village. I saw the house on fire, the roof collapsing. That must be why they thought I died – the bodies were probably burnt beyond recognition."

Annie starts crying quietly at the confirmation that Blake and Mara are really dead. I lean forward and clasp her hands in mine, offering silent support. "At least... they died quickly," she sniffs. "Right?"

"Quickly enough," Natare says. "Faster than a lot of the townsfolk. The only reason I was able to sneak down to the docks was because the Peacekeepers were busy dragging people from their homes and stringing them up on poles to be carrion food."

All of a sudden I'm glad Mags came to the arena with me. If she'd stayed back in 4, she would have met a similar fate. At least her death was quick. Of course, Plutarch was supposed to have rescued my loved ones, but we all know how that one turned out.

"So I skirted the town, got to the docks, untied Gemma, and used the engine to get me out to sea before anyone could stop me. I was fairly out-of-it by that point, so I just turned on the auto-pilot function and cried myself to sleep." Considering I essentially had a mental breakdown when I found out about Blake, Mara, and Natare's deaths, I'm very impressed that Natare managed to avoid a similar fate. But then, she's always been stronger than me.

"And this all started when we broke out of the arena?"

Natare nods. "Actually, I thought about going back for Annie, but then I saw that her house wasn't on fire. I figured that Snow must have gotten her."

Annie stares down at our intertwined hands. "The Peacekeepers burst into the room and hit me with a dart. That's all I remember."

"You do realize that your escape is a miracle?" I say. "The chances of that happening..."

"I know," Natare agrees quietly. "I just laid in the cabin for the first week after the attack. I was so consumed by guilt, for leaving them there to get killed. It took me awhile to figure out that there wasn't a damn thing I could have done."

"And then?"

"I drifted," she says. "Week after week. I fished from time to time to keep the supplies well-stocked, but I was basically living like the ship – on auto-pilot."

"What changed?" Annie asks softly.

Natare suddenly smiles. "I skipped my time of the month for a second time, and realized what it meant. With this little life growing in me, I knew I had to protect it, had to get my life back in order. I forced myself to be more active, started fiddling with the ship's controls, mended the nets, patched the holes in the sails. And then, when I couldn't stand it anymore, I turned around and came home."

"How far along are you?" I ask.

"Nearly five months," Natare says proudly. "Just saw the doctors this morning. It's going to be a girl."

"A girl," I muse. "Have you thought of any names?"

But we all know what she's going to say before she says it. "Mara."

"That's a good name," Annie murmurs.

I nod silently in agreement.


	70. Part 6: Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Five**

Beetee, Gale, and their think tank ship out to District 2 a few days later. I ask Haymitch why he isn't joining them, and his answer is only one word: "Peeta". I suspect the old victor has come to view Peeta as the son he never had – which would be fitting, considering he thinks of Katniss as the daughter he never had. And now one surrogate child is insane, and the other on her way to becoming so. Hopefully Gale can talk some sense into her before she loses it entirely.

If I thought Annie was doing better before, now that Natare is alive, it's like she's a completely different person. She still spaces out, and laughs at odd moments, and has fits, but when Natare and I are around they're so few and far between that it's almost like Annie never went to the Games in the first place. That alone, if nothing else, gives me hope that everything is going to work out.

Back in District 4, Natare never developed any specific skill sets, but she's always been a quick, clever girl. The powers-that-be in 13 pick up on that in her entry interview, and put her to work in the communications center. She works shorter shifts than the others, because of her pregnant state, which actually annoys her, as she wants to contribute to the war effort as much as possible.

Annie spends most of her time either with me, Natare, or Johanna. I alternate between hanging around Command, where I sometimes film propos, or am asked my opinion on various projects they're planning, and visiting Johanna and Peeta. The former is getting much better, although she's still addicted to morphling, and the latter is... well, it's hard to tell. The doctors are sure he's improving, but the biggest accomplishment they can claim so far is that they've convinced Peeta that Katniss is not, in fact, a mutt.

Plutarch stops by Command one day and hands me a little box. Opening it curiously, I discover a thin gold band inside, set with a small sapphire. Such a gem would be laughed at in Capitol, but out here, this thing must be worth a fortune. "I promised you an engagement ring, didn't I?" Plutarch says, smiling proudly. "Don't ask me where I got it, you're better off not knowing."

Ominous, but I'm too elated to care. "This is perfect," I tell him. "Annie will love it."

He winks. "Got to keep our 'it' couple happy."

"'It' couple?" I laugh.

Plutarch grins. "I've heard the citizens talking about little else. Everyone loves a wedding."

"So you've said."

"Well, it's true. Give my best to your lady-love."

I know that Annie's taking a nap in our compartment, so I stop myself from bursting excitedly into the room like I'd planned. Instead, I quietly unlock the door, sneak into the room, and shut it as quietly as possible behind me.

Annie is curled up on the bed, head pillowed on her hands, wavy brown hair spread out like a halo around her face. I pause for a minute to admire her, and I get so caught up in just watching her sleep that I almost forget the reason I came here.

Crouching down beside her, I kiss her cheek and say, "Annie, love, wake up."

Her eyelids flutter open, and she stares up at me with her beautiful sea-green eyes. "Finnick? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I reply, grinning widely. "For the first time ever, Annie, there is _nothing _wrong."

She props herself up on an elbow, smiling slightly as my infectious mood catches. "And why is that?"

I pull out the box that Plutarch gave me, flipping open the lid without fanfare. Annie's eyes go wide as she sees the simple, yet gorgeous ring. "It's beautiful," she says reverently, reaching out a finger to touch it. Then she adds hesitantly, "Is it... for me?"

This question is so ridiculous that I actually have no idea how to respond. Finally, valiantly fighting back laughter, I splutter out, "No, Annie, I just wanted to show it to you before I give it to another woman."

It's a mark of how much better she's gotten that she recognizes this as a joke. She swats my shoulder lightly, then sticks out her hand. I slide the ring onto her fourth finger, then press a kiss to it. "Will you marry me, Annie?"

"Not fair," she complains. "You got to ask last time."

"But for you to propose, you'd have to get _me _a ring," I remind her.

She pulls the sapphire band off her finger. "I'll use this."

I examine the tiny circlet, which could maybe fit on the tip of my pinky. "It may be a bit small." Taking it from her, I experimentally push it onto my pinky. It barely reaches the the first joint. "Sorry, angel, looks like you'll just have to be the proposee."

"Fine," Annie laughs, slipping the ring back on her finger.

"Will you marry me, Annie Cresta?"

"Your first proposal was better," she decides.

Giving a growl of mock-annoyance, I climb up onto the mattress, pinning my laughing fiancee beneath me. Then I mercilessly begin to tickle her sides, and she laughs and squirms helplessly beneath me. "Stop it, Finnick!" she gasps.

"Or what?" I challenge.

I increase my efforts, sending her off again into peals of laughter.

A few days later, I'm practicing with my high-tech trident down in Special Weaponry while Annie visits with Natare, when Plutarch runs in radiating excitement. "They did it!" he shouts. "The Nut's fallen!"

So the stronghold in 2, the last district still siding with Capitol, has been destroyed. No wonder he's so happy. "How'd they manage it?"

Plutarch gestures for me to follow him. I assume we're heading to Command. I prop up the trident against the wall and trail along in his wake. "It was a phenomenal idea," Plutarch tells me over his shoulder. "A death trap – they triggered an avalanche to hit the Nut – buried it under rock, with only one way out. They've got soldiers waiting to pick off any survivors who don't surrender immediately."

I have to admit, that does sound like a good plan, although I'm surprised Katniss went for it. There are a lot of innocent people working in the Nut – she can't have liked the idea of killing civilians. Although I doubt she had much of a choice once the plan was decided on. "And where's our Mockingjay in all of this?"

We reach Command, and turn to go in. Coin, Fulvia, Haymitch, and all the other important people are already gathered inside, chattering quietly and glancing occasionally at the big blank screen on the wall. "We're going to have Katniss do a speech, once victory is certain," Plutarch explains. "I thought you might like a front-row seat."

"You thought right."

I end up standing beside Haymitch, who is wearing a headset and must be talking to Katniss. He gives me the play by play. Fighting in the main square. Telling her about Peeta's latest steps to recovery. Then night falling, and the rebels waiting for trains to carry survivors out of the Nut. The whole thing takes hours, and by the time it's time for Katniss' speech, it's well past midnight. I hope Annie doesn't worry over where I am.

"She's going to give a speech," Haymitch finally says, turning to face the screen.

"This should go well," I snort.

"We can always hope," Haymitch says, but he doesn't sound very hopeful.

The screen turns on, and Katniss appears, lit by floodlights. "People of District 2, this is Katniss Everdeen speaking to you from the steps of your Justice Building, where..."

She stops talking when something screeches loudly behind her. "The trains, with survivors from the Nut," Haymitch announces to the people gathered in Command. "They're armed." Then, to Katniss through his headset, "Don't get involved." The screen goes dark as they presumably kill the lights so that Katniss has less of a chance of being spotted, and therefore shot.

The camera follows Katniss' shadowy figure as she leaps down the Justice Building's stairs and hurries towards the trains. "Stop!" Haymitch snaps into his headset, but the Katniss on-screen doesn't appear to hear him. A young man – one of the survivors from the train – staggers towards Katniss, then collapses to the ground.

"Stop!" Katniss yells as she darts toward the fallen man. "Stop! Hold your fire! Stop!" I wonder if she realizes that her mic is still on.

Then the man notices her, and raises his gun towards her.

"Freeze!" Haymitch hisses into the headset.

For once, Katniss actually listens. She stumbles to a halt, staring down at the wounded, blood-stained, ash-streaked man. "Give me one reason I shouldn't shoot you," the District 2 man rasps.

"I can't," Katniss says.

Really? That's all she could come up with? But then she surprises me when it turns out she really does have a plan. Or, at least, she's thought up one remarkably fast. "I can't," she repeats. "That's the problem, isn't it? We blew up your mine. You burned my district to the ground. We've got every reason to kill each other. So do it. Make the Capitol happy. I'm done killing their slaves for them." She drops her bow and kicks it toward him.

"Does she know what she's doing?" I hiss at Haymitch. He shrugs. Everyone in Command is whispering nervously, debating whether to call in a sniper to take out the man, or send in the troops, or just wait and see what happens.

"I'm not their slave," the man says.

Katniss then talks about the Games, about the endless circle of violence perpetrated by the Capitol, with the only person who wins being President Snow. She asks him why District 2 is fighting the rebels, when most of the rebels here are people from 2. And then she calls for 2 to stop fighting the rebels and join us in our battle against the Capitol.

"Please!" she shouts passionately. "Join us!"

And then she gets shot.

As Katniss falls to the ground, chaos reigns behind her. Rebel soldiers run to her side, surrounding her fallen body and shoving the wounded District 2 men and women away. Gunfire sounds in the background – hopefully it's the rebels finding whoever shot Katniss, although it could just as easily be fighting breaking out again.

"Katniss!" Haymitch shouts into the mic.

Plutarch hurries over, face anxious. "Is she responding?"

I examine the screen, where the camera crews are dutifully keeping our pale and unconscious Mockingjay onscreen. "You may want to cut the broadcast," I say dryly.

Plutarch turns as pale as Katniss. "End it!" he shouts. "Capitol can't see her like that!"

"She's moaning something," Haymitch reports. "I think the body armor must have protected her, although she sounds like she's in a lot of pain."

"The bullet might have ruptured something," someone says.

"Concussion?" suggests another.

"Everyone out!" Coin barks. "The excitement is over! We'll let you know what's going on as soon as _we _know!"

Haymitch is still talking to Katniss through his headset, although who knows if she's understanding anything he's saying. "You did good, sweetheart," he whispers. "You're going to be okay."

I nudge Haymitch. "She knows."

He blinks at me, like he forgot I was even in the room. "I'm tired of watching children die," he says tiredly.

"You and me both. Listen, I'm going to sneak some food from the kitchen and bring it back to my room – you want to join? I can't promise alcohol, but the company will be decent enough. And you've yet to meet my sister."

"That's right, she survived," he says, beginning to take off the headset. Then he pauses with it halfway over his head. "Sneak some food? Katniss' prep team were jailed for stealing a slice of bread. How are you getting away with it?"

My eyebrows fly skywards. "You've known me for years, Haymitch. If you haven't figured out yet that attractive people get to bend the rules, then I'd say it's time for a serious re-education."

With the state Katniss is in, Haymitch is in no mood for frivolity, but he grunts out a brief 'heh' for my sake. "I'll stop by if I have time," he promises.

"Katniss will be fine," I reassure him.

Haymitch stares off into space. "It's been a long time since that girl was fine."


	71. Part 6: Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Six**

Katniss shows up in critical condition. The bullet didn't actually get through the excellent body armor that Cinna designed, but the impact was enough to rupture her spleen. Not an organ you particularly need, but apparently one that can cause you immeasurable amounts of pain and prove fatal unless removed.

I wait a day before stopping in to see Katniss, since I assume she'll be swarmed by doctors for at least the first 24 hours. When I show up, she's drugged and unconscious, which the doctors tell me when I ask to see her. "She won't be very good company," Nurse Everdeen says.

"Simply being in my presence will inspire her to recuperate faster," I respond arrogantly, provoking a laugh from Katniss' mother.

I sit by her bedside and stare at our Mockingjay, who is pale and sporting an oh-so-fashionable blood-stained bandage wrapped around her midsection. There's a morphling drip attached to her arm, which prompts me to think about Johanna. Annie has told me about her poorly-disguised addiction to the pain meds. Apparently they're trying to wean her off them, although considering how stubborn she is, I can't imagine they'll have much luck.

Prim, Katniss' little sister, sits by her bed most days, and today is no exception. When she spots me occupying her usual spot, she turns to leave, but I put my hand on her arm to stop her. "I just wanted to make sure our savior was alright," I assure her. "I'll get out of your way."

"It's no trouble at all," Prim squeaks, who seems to have something of a crush on me. But because she's a clever girl, she thinks that her crush must be awkward for me, and acts even more awkwardly as a result.

I give her a smile, which has her blushing like a school girl. Which, I suppose, she is. If you put Prim and Katniss beside each other – one cheerful and bubbly, the other antagonistic and sullen – it's hard to remember they're sisters. Still, I know that they love each other more than life itself. They'd have to, or else Katniss would never have gone to the Hunger Games in the first place.

The next week or so is fairly exciting, as for the first few days everyone is convinced that the Mockingjay is dead, and then after footage of her in the hospital is released, they're convinced that she's still dead, and that Coin got a body double to replace Katniss. When Katniss finally starts walking around again, her usual scowling self, the rumor mill finally catches on to the fact that she is, in fact, alive.

Once Plutarch secures a promise from Katniss that she'll show up and put on a happy face for the cameras, the Finnick-Annie wedding – which Plutarch's been mulling over for weeks – finally makes the transition from thought to reality. I think my favorite part of the planning process is when Plutarch and Coin square off against each other in Command, vehemently disagreeing over what constitutes a proper 'wedding'.

"So I'm thinking we can use one of the clearings up on the surface, room enough for a few hundred people," Plutarch explains, gesturing to a large piece of paper he's brought along that gives all the details. "The forest will act like a wall around the area, very picturesque. We'll get all the musicians to practice for the ball – which will happen on the second evening – and then they can work on some jauntier, modern tunes for the big dance party on the third day. Caterers will need a few days to prep all the venison and steaks, and I really think we ought to send out some hovercraft scouts to find flowers to use in the garlands, bouquets, and table centerpieces."

Coin takes a break from her usual stiff, unflappable self to gape at Plutarch. "Are you out of your mind?" she demands. "A wedding means signing a contract and getting a new compartment, Heavensbee, not a garish, three-day celebration of... of filthy hedonism!"

"But half the point here is to make a propo, so we can show Capitol we're not only alive, but loving life! How are we supposed to do that if all we film is Finnick and Annie signing a piece of paper?"

"Fine," Coin allows. "One evening – _one –_ with the musicians and the dancing. Provided you can find any instruments. Indoors – we'll use one of the larger meeting halls. But no dinner, and no alcohol."

Plutarch nearly swoons at this unthinkable prospect. "What's the point of the propo if no one's having any fun?"

"Fun is not directly proportional to alcohol consumption!" Coin fumes.

"Clearly you never got invited to the good parties," Plutarch sniffs.

The whole district is swept up in wedding fever, even if only a fraction will be able to attend. Whenever I walk down the corridors, I get stopped by random men I've never met, who shake my hand, or punch me on the shoulder, and offer me ribald suggestions on how to best treat my wife-to-be. The ladies start tearing up whenever I pass by – although I'm not sure if it's because they're happy that true love has finally won out despite all hardships, or because it means I'll be permanently off the market.

Annie is more or less in a daze, floating on a cloud of bliss as the date of the wedding approaches. That's not say I'm any less excited; I'm just a lot better at hiding it than her. When we walk hand in hand around the tunnels, we're bombarded with well-wishers. More than once I have to shove a way through the crowd and take Annie someplace quiet so she can calm down from all the excitement. Not that she really needs it – the sheer joy in the air is doing wonders for her, and it's hard to catch her without a smile on her face these days.

The issue of appropriate wedding attire pops up, and Katniss offers to take Annie with her to 12, where she'll grab some of the clothes that Cinna designed for her and Peeta. When Katniss suggests this, I glance at Annie worriedly, because I don't know how she'll react to the idea of being alone with our Mockingjay for such a length of time. But she seems amiable enough, and I know Katniss will never let anything happen to her, so I help them board the hovercraft myself.

The night before our wedding, Nurse Everdeen shows up right before Annie and I are about to turn in and whisks her away from me. "It's bad luck for the groom to see the bride on her wedding day," she explains.

"But this is the night before," I protest.

Nurse Everdeen checks her watch. "Two hours until midnight," she says flatly. "You really expect me to sleep for two hours, then come all the way back here to get her? I know that you certainly won't let her out of your clutches without outside intervention."

"I suppose not," I sigh.

Annie slips her arms around my waist. "We'll be together for the rest of our lives," she says softly, pressing a kiss to my cheek. "Do you think you can survive one night?"

"I don't know," I grin. "Maybe we shouldn't chance it."

"Come along," Katniss' mother huffs, steering Annie out of the room. "Get some sleep!" she barks at me as she pulls the door shut behind her. "You won't be getting any tomorrow night!"

"I don't intend to," I agree, causing Annie to blush horribly.

I had always assumed, back when I imagined this day as a child, that I would be a complete wreck before my wedding, freaking out over messing up my vows, worrying that my bride would leave me at the altar, balking at the idea of spending the rest of my life with a single woman. Now that the day has arrived, however, the only thing I feel is a weird, dreamy sort of calm elation. When Haymitch and Beetee show up to get me dressed and prepped for the big day, they find me lying stretched out on the bed with my arms pillowed behind my head, whistling a jaunty tune.

"He's cracked," Haymitch opines.

"Of course he hasn't," Beetee counters. "He's just excited."

"That's the whistling of a man on the last legs of his sanity."

"Hey, you two," I greet, jumping to my feet. "Quit bickering and give me my suit. I've got a princess to marry."

"You see?" Haymitch hisses, as Beetee hands me a black suit with a green bow tie wrapped around the hangar. "He thinks he's a prince."

"I _am _the prince," I maintain, starting to undress. "Think about all those fairy tales you heard as a child. The prince is handsome, brave, and utterly swoon-worthy. He has to overcome horrible adversity to marry the girl of his dreams – whom, as you may recall, is always a beautiful, soft-spoken young princess. Seeing any parallels?"

"Other than the fact that neither you nor Annie are royalty?" Haymitch says snidely. I start to pull off my pants, and he grimaces and slaps a hand over his eyes. "Some warning before you decide to moon me, pretty boy."

"You can't get enough of me," I counter.

Beetee's still stuck on the fairy tale parallel. "You do make a compelling argument," he admits, pushing his glasses thoughtfully up his nose. "I think we can waive the royalty clause, since there is technically no such thing as royalty in our current political system. Without that limitation, your combination of good looks, fame, and popularity could easily be arguments for your leading man status. And Annie, as the object of your affections, therefore by convention takes on the role of leading lady."

"If you start telling people to call you Prince Charming..." Haymitch growls.

"You wound me, sir," I sniff. "You wound me with your un-called-for accusations and poor assessment of my character. Also, you can open your eyes."

"Finished the strip tease, are you?"

"No."

Haymitch, who is in the process of lowering his hands from his face, snaps them back over his eyes. "I should kill you for that."

"You aren't allowed," I laugh. "Not on my wedding day."

"Since when was that a rule?" Haymitch grumbles.

Natare shows up an hour later to oversee the final stages of the dressing process. When she gets tired of Haymitch and I tormenting each other, she unceremoniously throws both he and Beetee out of the room. "You should be ashamed of yourself!" she shrieks as they hurry down the hallway, not wanting to face my diminutive sister's wrath. "Teasing him like that on his wedding day!"

"Don't worry," I tell her, once she shuts the door. "I don't really believe that Annie will run off with the lead soprano."

"I should hope not," she scowls. "Especially considering it's a childrens' choir."

Natare fiddles with my bow tie for a few minutes, then steps away to get the full view. All of a sudden, she bursts into tears. I help her over to the bed, where she curls against me and sobs into my shoulder.

"It's alright," I murmur.

"No, it isn't," she cries. "I'm so happy for you Finnick, you know I am, but..."

"But being here today reminds you of your own wedding," I finish for her.

"I thought I'd moved on, but I haven't," Natare sobs. "Not at all. I loved him _so _much Finnick, you have no idea, and Blake and Mara too, and when I heard those gunshots, I wished that I was there with them, so that I wouldn't have to live without them."

I understand her feelings, of course, but this sort of thinking isn't healthy. Especially not on such a happy day. "Natare," I say, kissing her soft hair. "You can't think that way. Do you even know how much it means to me that you survived? You were first in my heart long before I met Annie, Natare."

"Don't tell her that," Natare mutters, although I can feel her smiling against my shoulder.

"I won't if you don't," I grin. Standing up, I strike a heroic pose. "Enough weeping! Come, we have a wedding to conquer!"

This provokes a round of giggles. "You aren't supposed to conquer weddings," Natare says, letting me help her to her feet.

"It's my wedding, I'll do whatever I like to it."

She goes up on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. "Come on, big brother. Time to get you married."


	72. Part 6: Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Seven**

I stand on the stage, looking out on three hundred smiling faces surrounded by the autumn foliage pinned to the walls of one of the larger meeting halls. Since Plutarch couldn't get his outdoor wedding, he had to make do. I think it turned out spectacularly.

Beetee and Haymitch stand beside me – or in Beetee's case, sit – and we wait for the lady of the hour to arrive. Natare and Johanna are on the other side of the platform, and when I see Johanna out of the hospital, I grow even happier, if that's possible.

The choir of children begins to sing a cheerful, uplifting song, and I straighten as I see someone appear at the end of the long aisle. Annie begins to move slowly between the rows of chairs, and every eye is fixed on her. How could they not be? She's more beautiful than I've ever seen her, clad in a stunning green silk dress, hair curled with dozens of flowers intertwined in her flowing locks, smiling so radiantly that I nearly forget where I am and run to embrace her.

She finally makes it up to the platform, and I grab her hand as soon as she's in reach. "You look beautiful," I tell her, as she steps closer to me. She's trembling. I wonder if that long walk by herself through a sea of strangers unnerved her. I tighten my grip on her hand to remind her that she's not alone.

Dalton, the man from District 10 officiating the ceremony, raises his hands in the air. "We are gathered here today to witness the union of Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta. They wish to join in the eternal bond of matrimony, a declaration of their love and devotion for each other. Any who have cause to dispute their right to marry may do so now."

No one speaks up. This is a very good thing, because if anyone tried to stop me from marrying Annie at this point, I'd probably bury a trident in their chest.

"Bring forth the net," Dalton says, and Natare steps forward holding a carefully piled grass net. Together, they unfold the long-grass net and drape it over our shoulders. "Just as this net binds you together in body, so shall your love bind you in heart and mind. And now, the vows."

He nods at me, indicating I should go first. "I, Finnick Odair," he prompts.

"I, Finnick Odair."

Annie stares at me with this dazzled look, like she can't believe this thing we've been dreaming about for years is finally happening.

"Take Annie Cresta to be my wife."

"Take Annie Cresta to be my wife."

"To have, to hold, to love, to care for."

"To have, to hold, to love, to care for."

"Until the end of time."

"Until the end of time," I agree, then add, "And hopefully past that, if she's willing."

The audience chuckles.

Annie repeats the process, although without my little embellishment at the end. Then Haymitch brings over the bowl of salt water – there must have been a special trip to the sea to get that – and I dip a finger into the bowl, then touch it to Annie's soft lips. She does the same, and then we slip the delicate golden wedding bands onto each others' fingers as the choir sings our district's traditional wedding song.

The last notes of the song conclude, and Dalton clears his throat. "Finnick, you may kiss your bride."

Annie gasps as I grab her, bend her over backward so that her long hair nearly touches the ground, and kiss her so passionately that the audience erupts in cheers.

The rest is a blur. Swarmed by people offering heartfelt congratulations. Natare crying, hugging Annie and I so tightly that I suspect she's trying to suffocate us. Haymitch thumping me on the back, saying how happy he is that something good finally happened to us. Even Katniss makes an appearance, offering quiet but sincere congratulations.

The music starts – only one fiddler made it out of District 12 – and it turns out that the refugees from 12 are excellent dancers. They start into a rousing line dance, and soon the people from 13 are being pulled in as well, eager to learn the steps. I even see Katniss whirling around at one point, and am amazed at the sight. I hadn't thought her capable of such a light-hearted activity. I hope Snow watches every second of this. Perhaps he'll finally realize that there's no way he can win. Anyone watching this couldn't help but realize the indomitable spirit of the rebels.

Someone calls for the bride and groom to come out for a dance, so I pull a laughing, protesting Annie out into the middle of the dance floor and sketch her an elaborate bow. Then the music starts up, and since I have no idea how the dance goes, I settle for spinning her around the dance floor while she beams so brilliantly that I imagine everyone who looks at her must be blinded.

When the music mercifully slows into a ballad – and a good thing too, as I was getting dizzy from all the spinning – I pull Annie close. She rests her head against my shoulder, breathing deeply as if trying to memorize my scent, to immortalize this moment for all time. Or at least, I assume this is her plan, as it's exactly what I'm doing.

"All those times you said we'd be together..." Annie murmurs. "You know, I never really believed it. I'm not sure I even do now. To be this happy... it just feels so unreal."

No one has ever been able to leave me speechless the way Annie can. To sum up this day, our relationship, our love so perfectly... "Have I mentioned how much I love you?"

"You may have once or twice," Annie smiles.

I suddenly remember something, a rather important snippet that I had intended to tell her, but somehow forgot about. "You remember the interviews at the Quarter Quell?" I ask.

She shudders at the mention of the Hunger Games. "I try not to."

"Do you remember that poem I recited?"

Annie glances up at me, and our gazes meet. Her sea-green eyes are sparkling, even in the artificial lighting of our underground wedding hall. "It was so beautiful. I remember thinking how it was wasted on all those Capitol women who swooned as you read it."

"And you do realize that, when I dedicated it to my one true love, I meant that it was for you?"

She tears up. "Of course. It was like you were right there beside me. It was the thing that kept me going through the Games. I thought, no one can say something like that, and then _not _return home to her."

I kiss her forehead. "You thought right."

There's a sudden commotion over by the stage area, and we turn to see a huge wedding cake being wheeled into the room. Everyone backs up, forming a circle around the masterpiece. Annie and I hurry over, and both of us freeze in our tracks when we get close enough to truly appreciate the design.

It's circular, five layers, each layer as thick as two hands stacked on top of each other. The icing is blue-green, and is shaped like waves, complete with white-frosted tips. Swimming in the waves are fish and sailboats, seals and sea flowers, starfish and colorful seashells.

Annie moves her mouth open and closed, clearly flabbergasted by this stunningly beautiful cake. Haymitch walks over to us, shoving a knife into my hand. "Time to cut the cake," he says.

"This is magnificent," I say as he pushes me toward the cake. Since Annie's hand is clasped tightly in my other hand, she goes with us. "After eating that sludge they call food in the cafeteria, I would have thought something like this beyond the talents of our chefs."

Haymitch snorts a laugh. "Peeta made it. The frosting, anyway. Thought you'd like something to remind you of home."

That Peeta is now capable of creating something that obviously required many hours of careful and diligent labor tells me that he truly is on the road to recovery, even if he's only taken the first few steps. "I'll have to thank him personally."

Haymitch nods. "You do that." He glances off to the side, where I see Katniss standing. She's staring at the cake, and from the cautious hope in her eyes, I gather she's figured out who decorated the cake. "I'll be back in a minute," Haymitch says.

"Take your time."

I don't bother offering the knife to Annie – ever since her time in the arena, she's had a phobia of any and all sharp objects. Instead, I hold the knife up in the air and clear my throat expectantly. There's a wave of whispered "shh!"s and "quiet!"s as the crowd notices that I intend to give a speech.

"Why couldn't he have been our Mockingjay? " I hear someone mutter. Turning my head slightly, I see President Coin standing only a few yards away, scowling softly. "Boy lives for an audience." I wink at her to let her know that I heard. Coin plasters an unbelievably fake smile on her face and looks away.

"Attention!" I call. When a few people continue to chatter, I shout, "Oy! Groom talking! Shut it!" The ripple of laughter clues the last few stragglers in, and soon I have relative silence. Even the fiddler obligingly lays down his bow, although I imagine that his arms must be exhausted by this point.

"First of all, Annie and I want to thank you all for coming," I say loudly. "We know that it's entirely because of your deep love and affection for us, and definitely has nothing to do with the free food and a whole afternoon with no set schedule."

My audience chuckles appreciatively as Natare calls, "Who are you again?"

"Seriously, though," I continue. "Annie and I never thought today was even a possibility. Not with Snow, and the Capitol, and their admirably ceaseless efforts to ruin every aspect of our lives. But that all stops today, and you know why? We beat them! Oh sure, the physical war is far from won, but the ideological one? The mental one? This party is being filmed for the propos. Do you really think anyone from Capitol could watch this and not doubt that we will prevail? That they could possibly quell our love for life, our determination to enjoy our lives, even under the harshest of circumstances? To be with the ones we love, and damn anyone who tries to stand in our way?"

"Hell no!" someone shouts.

I hadn't intended to turn a thank-you-for-coming speech into a rebellious rant, but I guess I'm just a natural firebrand. Katniss and I should compare notes. As the crowd erupts in cheers, Annie goes up on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. "That was wonderful," she whispers.

"You're sure?" I ask. "I know our wedding shouldn't be about the rebellion..."

"It was perfect," she assures me.

And to show me how perfect it was, she actually places her soft hand against mine, the one that's holding the knife. I can't imagine what it must be taking her to accomplish even this simple gesture. I wrap my arm around her waist, hugging her tight, and together we slice the first piece of our wedding cake to thunderous applause.


	73. Part 6: Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Eight**

Our honeymoon is short but sweet. Since we can't actually leave the underground compound, our 'honeymoon' basically consists of us not having our arms time-stamped for a whole three days, and getting food delivered to our room instead of having to go all the way to the cafeteria. Still, Annie doesn't complain. Although considering the considerable amount of effort I put into making her as loved as humanly possible, I don't see how she could possibly have a reason – or the energy necessary – to complain. I keep her in a state of blissful euphoria for the entire 72 hour period, and we both couldn't be happier about it.

Then Haymitch comes knocking on my door on the morning of the fourth day. "Put on some clothes," he says by way of greeting.

I glance down at my body. To be honest, clothing hasn't quite been at the top of my priority list these last few days. Hell, right now Annie's lying in bed with only a sheet to cover her. I grab a robe and step out in the hallway, pulling the door shut behind me. "What do you want, Haymitch?"

"So sorry to distract you from your sexy time," Haymitch grumps. "Thought you might like that know that they've started planning the Capitol operation. If you want a chance at killing Snow, you'll want to be a part of whatever they come up with."

"Count me in," I say immediately.

Haymitch rolls his eyes. "Think again, pretty boy. You've been out of practice for months. If you want to go to Capitol, you're going to have to train hard, prove to Coin and Heavensbee that you're serious about this."

I scowl. Every minute training is a minute away from my gorgeous new wife. Still, the thought of killing Snow with my own two hands – or even just being there when he bites it – is too tempting to pass up. "When does training start?"

"What am I, a drill sergeant? Put on some pants and report down to Command. They'll tell you where to go from there." Haymitch walks off, shaking his head and muttering something about depraved sex-maniacs.

Annie has fallen into a half-asleep state when I get back inside, and when I start to rummage for my pants, she murmurs, "What's going on?"

"Nothing, love," I say, leaning over to kiss her forehead. I run my hand tenderly along the gentle curve of her cheek. "Go back to sleep. I'll be back later."

"Okay," she whispers, eyes already in the process of fluttering shut.

Satisfied that she won't panic when she wakes up and realizes that I'm gone, I shut the door softly behind me and head for Command. I pass a trio of men that I recognize from the wedding – possibly they are refugees from 12 – who whistle as I approach. "Hey, it's the newlywed!" one of them chortles. "How's married life treating you?"

I arch an eyebrow at them. "I haven't put on pants in three days. How do you think it's treating me?"

They're still guffawing as I round the corner.

Beetee looks up in surprise when I walk into the Special Weaponry department. "What are you doing out of bed?" he demands. "I didn't think I'd be seeing you around for at least a week."

"Duty calls," I explain. "Revenge, actually, but duty sounds more professional. Haymitch said I need training if I want to get in on the Capitol mission. Where do I go for that?"

Beetee directs me to a special part of Command called simply Training – there's some creative naming going on here – where I report to a burly man who claims to be part of the Assignment Board. "We decide who goes to Capitol," he says gruffly. "Finnick Odair, yeah? I've seen you in action. Not bad. I heard you went crazy. Instincts still sharp?"

"Sharp enough to hit a bulls-eye with my trident from thirty meters away," I say confidently.

He eyes my biceps, which aren't as big as they used to be, but still a decent enough size. "Alright," he says. "I'll put you down for accelerated training. But you screw up, Odair, and you're down to beginner level faster than you can spit."

"I don't spit, as a general rule," I say. "Unseemly habit."

I hurry out the door before he can change his mind.

Accelerated training is brutal. I come in an hour or so late, so I miss the warm up run, but I get there just in time for the two hours of calisthenics. It's made even more enjoyable by burly guy shouting at us non-stop while we do our jumping jacks, sit ups, and push ups. Then there's strength training, a break for lunch, followed by hours and hours of weapons and tactics.

Gale is in my class, lucky me, and I catch him glowering at me from time to time. I imagine he thinks I flirted my way into the accelerated training program, or something. I can't get too mad at him, though, as it's not an unreasonable assumption to make. Although I don't think burly guy would be too fond of me throwing myself at him. Then again, considering the things I've seen in Capitol... I glance at burly guy, sizing him up. Was that a lusty glint in his eye when he was looking at my arms earlier? Maybe I should have given seduction a go after all. I might have gotten cleared for Capitol on the spot.

When I get back to my quarters, battered and bruised, Annie gasps and runs to throw her arms around me. "What happened?" she demands.

"I had to go for training," I explain.

"Why are you training?"

I should have lied, I think, berating myself. What the hell am I going to tell her? That I'm planning on going back to Capitol? That I'm going to throw myself into the line of fire again, just when she had begun to hope that we were going to live happily ever after together? It's not as if I don't plan on coming back alive, of course, but there are no guarantees in war, which Annie knows very well. Still, it's too late to lie, so I settle for a reasonable facsimile of the truth. "Just basic combat training," I say, trying to sound light-hearted. Luckily, I'm an excellent actor. "In case Capitol attacks again, District 13 wants us to be ready to defend our home."

Annie looks down at her hands. "This isn't our home," she says quietly.

"No, it isn't," I agree, embracing her. "But we have to defend it all the same."

On my fourth day of training, I take a detour through Special Weaponry to check in on Beetee, and find Coin and Plutarch having a heated debate. "You gave her your word," Plutarch says, practically spitting in his fury. "Three weeks, then a review by the Assignment Board!"

"I say a lot of things," Coin shrugs. "I don't care if Everdeen comes out top of her class, I'm not sending her to Capitol. The girl is incapable of following orders. I need soldiers, Heavensbee, not headstrong children."

Plutarch takes a calming breath. "Look, at least give the girl a chance. She's a smart kid. Maybe she can learn to take orders. If she can't pass the final training test, fair and square, I won't say another word on the matter."

Coin gives him a frosty look. "Fine. I swear, I should never have gotten you out of Capitol. All you do is complicate things."

"There wouldn't be a rebellion if not for me," Heavensbee retorts. "Remember that."

So Katniss Everdeen is in training as well. This doesn't surprise me, considering she's as committed to assassinating Snow as I am. I decide to go visit her in the hospital that evening, but Nurse Everdeen tells me that she and Johanna moved out. "They've decided to share a compartment," she says, sounding worried. "Johanna is a good girl, but I worry about the effect she has on Katniss."

"Johanna and Katniss are more alike than you think," I tell Katniss' mother. It's not exactly comforting, but it's true. Nurse Everdeen is about to disagree with me, but then a doctor calls for her and she has to run off.

I find their new compartment easily enough, but when I knock on the door, it's only Johanna inside. "Katniss is with that dark-haired hunk who follows her around like a lost puppy all the time," she explains when I ask.

"Gale?" I step inside, pulling the door shut behind me. Johanna immediately begins to strip. I laugh. "You might at least give me some warning before starting the naked party."

"I hate training," Johanna scowls, peeling off her clothes, which are curiously damp. She sees my look, and says, "We had to run in the rain today." Her tone is light, but when she throws the wet clothes away from her like they're poisonous snakes, I suspect something is wrong.

Asking her outright won't work, so I try to figure out what's going on by myself. Wet clothes... rain... of course. Didn't Plutarch tell me that when Johanna was a prisoner in Capitol, they kept her cell lined with water so they could electrocute her at random? No wonder she's acting like this – she must have developed some sort of water phobia. "How are you holding up?" I ask carefully.

"Less talking, more stripping," Johanna says.

It seems that everyone's getting better, that things are finally turning around. I have Annie and Natare back, Katniss and Johanna are strangely enough a good influence on each other, and even Gale has gotten less confrontational. Probably because I've recovered enough of my muscle mass and reflexes to prove a real challenge for him when we spar in training.

The only one who remains a mystery is Peeta. I don't hear about him for weeks, not until he shows up unexpectedly one evening in the dining hall. He arrives in shackles, with two armed guards, right as I'm finishing off a story about the time a sea turtle stole my hat.

"What you have to understand," I explain, "is that this was no ordinary sea turtle. For _weeks _now this turtle was following behind the boat, watching, waiting. It never came close enough to catch, just lurking out of reach. But then it got crafty, started to swim just under the surface of the water, so that it could see me, but I couldn't see it. And when I finally thought I'd lost him, I went for a swim and BAM! The turtle appears out of nowhere, bites my hat, and swims off so fast it might have been a shark."

Everyone's laughing at my absurd story, even Katniss, although I suspect it's forced. Still, it's good to see her interacting with other people, as I can't imagine hours alone with Johanna has done wonders for her social skills. Katniss suddenly freezes, causing whatever I was going to say next to stick in my throat.

Annie squeezes my hand. I glance back, and see that Peeta is standing behind the empty chair next to Johanna. Delly, an old friend of Peeta and Katniss, smiles brightly when she spots him. "Peeta! It's so nice to see you out and about!"

"What's with the fancy bracelets?" Johanna asks, referring to the manacles around Peeta's wrists.

"I'm not quite trustworthy yet," Peeta says. "I can't even sit here without your permission." He nods at the guards flanking him on each side, ready to restrain him if he gets out of control.

Katniss still hasn't said a word. I wonder if she's even capable of it. Seeing Peeta out of the hospital must be a massive shock for her, especially considering how he tends to react to her presence. Still, the doctors must know what they're doing, so I decide to give Peeta the benefit of the doubt. He's earned that much, at least.

Johanna invites Peeta to sit, stating that they're old friends. She must have gotten a puzzled look from someone, because she adds, "Peeta and I had adjoining cells in the Capitol. We're very familiar with each other's screams."

Annie stiffens at her words, and her hands fly up to her ears as she whimpers softly. I scowl at Johanna and hastily wrap my arms around Annie, murmuring soothing words. "It's alright, sweetheart, we're safe, we're never going back to Capitol, she didn't mean anything by it." Annie continues to tremble, although she does remove her hands from her ears. Johanna says something about her therapy, but I'm too angry with her to care.

Once I've gotten Annie more or less back to reality, I notice that our once-joyful dinner has become somber and silent. Delly breaks the silence before I have to. "Annie, did you know it was Peeta who decorated your wedding cake? Back home, his family ran the bakery and he did all the icing."

Annie bites her lip, staring across the table at the blonde boy. "Thank you Peeta," she whispers. "It was beautiful."

Peeta smiles softly. "My pleasure, Annie." He sounds almost tender as he's speaking. Maybe he recognizes that she's as broken as he is, feels some sort of connection with her.

Still, Johanna's careless comment from before has put me in a foul mood, and I'm no longer in the mood to socialize. "If we're going to fit in that walk, we better go," I tell Annie, stacking her tray on mine so that I can hold her hand in my other. I force a smile. "Good seeing you, Peeta."

Peeta's face is impassive. "You be nice to her, Finnick. Or I might try and take her away from you." It comes off as more a threat than a joke. I know he doesn't really mean it, but it still gets to me. Katniss pales and looks like she's going to hit him.

"Oh, Peeta," I say lightly, pulling Annie out of her chair. "Don't make me sorry I restarted your heart." I shoot Katniss a concerned look – she looks like she's either about to scream at Peeta or burst into tears – and then lead Annie away.

Once we're out of the dining hall and heading back to our quarters, Annie finally voices what we're both thinking. "Peeta... he's not better at all, is he?"

"No," I say, tugging her closer so that I can wrap my arm around her waist. "But at least he isn't trying to kill Katniss anymore. I'd call veiled threats an improvement over strangulation any day."

Annie stares at me, trying to figure out whether or not I'm joking. Finally I can't keep the smile off my face any longer, and we laugh together at the insanity of it all.


	74. Part 6: Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Nine**

The filmmaker Cressida and her camera crew show up at training a few days later. We're doing SSC – simulated street combat – and Plutarch wants some shots to use for the "Preparing For The Invasion!" propos. I'd like to say that all the hard-working trainees get equal screen time, but of course Gale and I take up a good 90% of it. Me because I'm, well, me, and Gale because he's both a war hero and fairly good looking.

Preparations for the final stage of the war are in full swing now. Men and women about to be deployed get their heads shaven, marking them as ready for combat. Officers run about at all hours of the night and day, barking orders, overseeing equipment moves, and just generally trying to organize the massive amount of planning that goes into a full scale invasion of Capitol.

Every moment that I'm not training I spend with Annie, trying to shield her from what's happening, but my efforts are in vain. When she confronts me about it, demands to know if all this "defensive" training of mine has really been preparing for the Capitol invasion, I have to tell her the truth. Annie actually kicks me out of the room that night, she's so furious, so I end up winding my way through the dark corridors down to Natare's end of the compound.

She opens her door on the third knock, wiping sleep from her eyes. "What?" Natare snaps. Then she realizes it's me, and opens the door with a curious look. Once I'm inside, she says, "Why are you here, Finnick? Annie kick you out?"

"Yes," I say glumly.

Natare gapes at me. "I was just joking. Seriously? She kicked you out? You must have screwed up _really _badly."

I sink down onto her bunk with a heavy sigh. "She figured out that I'm going to Capitol with the invasion force."

I yelp when Natare smacks my head sharply. "What is wrong with you?" she half-yells. "We just barely escaped this whole mess with our lives, and now you want to go throw your life away? You've done more than your share in this war, Finnick, let someone else carry the burden for a change!"

"How can I possibly make you understand?" I say despairingly. "Natare, it's not enough for me to sit back and let someone else do the job. I have to see this thing through myself. I have to be there when Snow gets a bullet through his heart. Or an arrow, if Katniss has it her way."

"Watch it on TV like everyone else," Natare implores, seizing my hands in hers as she kneels down in front of me. "I just got my brother back, Finnick, I don't want to lose you again."

I chuckle. "Believe me, I have no intention of dying. They won't let their star players anywhere near actual danger, I can assure you of that."

She isn't assured, not in the least, but neither can she persuade me to change my mind. She tosses me a threadbare pillow, points at the floor, says, "Maybe a back ache tomorrow will knock some sense into your thick skull," rolls over, and turns off the light.

My resulting back ache doesn't force a change of heart, however, so the next morning I wake up and report to Command for my final training evaluation. Our class gets to go first, and the beginner class will follow us. The exam is in the SSC room, which looks exactly like a typical Capitol city block – hence why it's been nicknamed "The Block" – and our instructor tells us that the test is designed to examine not only our physical abilities, but to target our individual weaknesses as well.

"Individual weaknesses?" Gale muses as the first student goes through the door. "What weakness are they targeting for me?"

"Your unbearably obnoxious superiority complex?" I suggest brightly. "Maybe they'll get your teammates to turn on you for being such an insufferably smug bastard."

To Gale's credit, he ignores my jibes completely. Since this takes the fun out of pestering him, I turn my thoughts inward instead. Individual weaknesses, hmm? I wonder what that will mean for me. I'm imagining some elaborate scenario where Peacekeepers kidnap Annie and hold her hostage, but all I get is a fairly basic rendezvous mission that involves a lot of climbing over rubble and dodging gunfire.

Exam a success, I leave the SSC room, get my hand stamped by a soldier, and report to Command. Since the rest of the soldiers are being told to report to the hair-buzzing station, I assume this means that Coin and Plutarch have a special mission in mind for me.

Sure enough, Plutarch is waiting for me in Command, along with a few people I don't know and Boggs, one of the soldiers who has been keeping an eye on Katniss during her various attempts to get herself killed. "Special sharpshooter unit," Boggs explains, glancing at the stamp on my hand.

"Don't tell me," I say dryly. "We get to look pretty for the cameras while the real soldiers do all the work."

"Everyone has a role to play," Boggs says. "Your wife will thank me later."

Gale shows up soon enough, not a hair out of place. Now that I think about it, I bet the kid could have gotten far in the Games, if he'd gotten called instead of Peeta. Confident, tall, good-looking... the Capitol ladies would have eaten him up. Plus he's older than I was when I was in the Games, so the ladies would have had extra reason to drool over him. I wonder if Gale would have played along with Snow's prostitution game. I decide I don't know him well enough to guess. I want to say that Katniss wouldn't have, but then, she was all set to marry Peeta just to keep Snow away from her family. What's meaningless sex, compared to being bound for life to someone you don't love?

Katniss arrives maybe half an hour later. As we wait, Boggs expresses his concerns that she won't make it, won't be able to follow orders enough to pass the test. "Katniss is smarter than you give her credit for," I say, before Gale can. This earns me a small nod of respect from the surly District 12 hunter.

She's practically bouncing when she comes into Command, although she adopts a more serious expression quickly enough. But I can tell she's excited, and from the stories I've heard of her training sessions, she's worked hard to earn her place in this squad.

Plutarch takes command of the room, and launches into an explanation of what challenges we should be expecting when we get to Capitol. He pulls up a holographic image of a city block, which doesn't strike me as very threatening at all, until Plutarch enters a code that makes small lights begin to flash at various points throughout the holograph.

"Each light is called a pod," he says, pointing them out. "It represents a different obstacle, the nature of which could be anything from a bomb to a band of mutts. Make no mistake, whatever it contains is designed to either trap or kill you. Some have been in place since the Dark Days, others developed over the years. To be honest, I created a fair number myself. This program, which one of our people absconded with when we left the Capitol, is our most recent information. They don't know we have it. But even so, it's likely that new pods have been activated in the last few months. This is what you will face."

I see the resemblance immediately, and so does Katniss. Only a victor could. A confined space, filled with deadly traps controlled by Capitol? The only thing missing is starving children trying to murder each other. This is the arena all over again. Katniss steps forward to view the hologram more closely. I join her, reaching out to brush my fingers over one of the red pod lights in the holograph. "Ladies and gentlemen..." I say.

"Let the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games begin!" Katniss finishes for me. "I don't know why you bothered to put me and Finnick through training, Plutarch," she adds with a laugh.

"Yeah," I agree. "We're already the two best-equipped soldiers you have."

Katniss and I get suspicious looks as the presentation continues. I know what they're thinking, of course. Will these psychologically scarred victors really be able to handle going back into the arena? If Katniss is anything like me, I can guess what her answer would be: bring it on. I would go through just about anything for the chance to kill Snow, and I'm guessing she's the same.

After the meeting adjourns, Katniss and I end up walking away together. "What will I tell Annie?" I sigh, imagining her reaction if I told her that I was heading back into the arena for a third time.

"Nothing," Katniss says harshly. "That's what my mother and sister will be hearing from me."

"If she sees that holograph..."

"She won't. It's classified information. It must be. Anyway, it's not like an actual Games. Any number of people will survive. We're just overreacting because—well, you know why. You still want to go, don't you?"

Does she seriously think I'm going to back out now, after having come this far? "Of course. I want to destroy Snow as much as you do."

"It won't be like the others," Katniss says, and then suddenly gives a huge smile. "This time Snow will be a player, too."

That is a comforting thought, isn't it?

Haymitch turns the corner, spots us, and hurries over. There's a worried look on his careworn face that instantly puts me on guard. "Johanna's back in the hospital."

The hospital? I want to grab Haymitch and shake him for answers, but Katniss beats me to the punch. "Is she hurt? What happened?" I should have noticed that she wasn't in the sharpshooter squad with us. I guess I assumed she had just been assigned to a different unit. I love the girl to death, but Johanna isn't exactly hero material.

Haymitch explains that something happened during her exam. "They flooded the street," he says.

"So?" Katniss asks.

"That's how they tortured her in the Capitol. Soaked her and then used electric shocks," Haymitch says. "In the Block she had some kind of flashback. Panicked, didn't know where she was. She's back under sedation."

I'm so furious that I can barely move. What were the examiners thinking, forcing a flood on someone deathly afraid of water? I know they're trying to find weaknesses in the soldiers, but surely they could have just assigned her to a unit that wouldn't go anywhere near water. A sniper, maybe, or even some sort of support team. But flooding the street... I want to find whoever's in charge and knock out their teeth.

"You two should go see her," Haymitch says. "You're as close to friends as she's got."

We talk a bit more, and then I take off immediately to go see Johanna. Katniss lingers behind, although I have no doubt she'll stop by to see Johanna soon enough. Katniss, I've noticed, has a weakness for the helpless and pathetic. And at the moment, I have no doubt that Johanna is about as helpless and pathetic as they come.

She's down to a basic white shift when I arrive, stretched out on a bed with a morphling drip already inserted into her arm. Her forehead is drenched in sweat, and she has this wide-eyed look, like she's terrified that if she goes to sleep she'll never wake up. Or maybe it's that her dreams have finally come to haunt her in reality.

I sit down beside her, take Johanna's hand in mine. She's trembling. "Are you cold?" I ask, reaching for a blanket.

"No!" she shouts.

I immediately drop the blanket, and deliberately move my chair away from the table it's sitting on. "No blanket," I say soothingly. "Haymitch told me what happened."

"I should have expected it," Johanna says bitterly. "They never wanted me, they were just humoring me. And when it was crunch time..."

"They shouldn't have done that," I tell her. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Despite her fragile state, she manages a snort. "When do I ever want to talk about my feelings, Odair?"

I try to think of how to make her feel better. "Naked party? Drastic, I know, but it would be funny to see the nurses' reactions, don't you think?"

Johanna considers this. "I dare you to walk through the hospital in your underwear."

"Would that make you feel better?"

"Maybe."

Not the certain response I'd been hoping for, but a little shameless ogling is a small price to pay for potentially helping Johanna. I yank off my shirt, give it a little twirl, and fling it at Johanna. My pants are given similar treatment, and I catch her smiling weakly at my impromptu strip tease.

Satisfied that this isn't a total waste, I proceed to saunter down the main aisle of the hospital wing as if I'm just going for a casual afternoon stroll. Reactions vary from amused laughs to complete indifference to catcalls. One of the younger nurses doesn't see me coming until I'm right beside her, and when she notices me she actually shrieks and faints right into my arms.

Finally Nurse Everdeen rushes over, grabs my ear, and drags me back over to Johanna. I protest her rough treatment, but for some reason she has no sympathy for my plight. "This is a hospital, not a strip club!" she scowls, taking my clothes from a smirking Johanna and shoving them into my arms. She points at a curtain. "Now get behind there and put on your clothes! Right now, young man!"

I strike a sexy pose, flexing my arm muscles. "Come on, Nurse Everdeen, you know you want me. Stop denying what we both know to be true." I wink at Katniss' mother. "I should tell you that I have a thing for older women."

The laugh I hear from Johanna as I'm manhandled behind the curtain makes it all worth it.


	75. Part 6: Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Ten**

Following Katniss' advice, I don't say a word to Annie about the true nature of the Capitol invasion. She knows that I'm going, though, and that nothing she does will stop me, so she lets me back into our room with a resigned sigh. I use every trick I know to get me back on her good side, but it's slow-going. Annie is furious with me, and I don't blame her. I'd be exactly the same, were our positions reversed.

The next few days are spent in training, although now we're mostly just doing target practice. We spend most of our time with guns, but for one hour a day we get to practice with our special weapons. As always, Katniss is graceful and deadly with her bow, and Gale is outfitted with a heavily militarized bow that has so many wheels and contraptions that I'm surprised he can figure out how to even fit the arrow on it. And I, of course, have my trident. True to my word to Beetee, I never use the emergency feature. From what Beetee said, I don't want to twist the two parts of the shaft unless I am quite literally on death's door.

Our squad is remarkably talented. There's Katniss, Gale and I, along with Boggs, his second in command Jackson, twin sisters both named Leeg, and two older men named Mitchell and Homes. I had assumed the rest of our squad would consist of bodyguards for Katniss, but these people are far better shots than I could ever hope to be. And I'm pretty damn good as it is.

My dreams of killing Snow are dashed, however, when Plutarch shows up and tells us what we're going to be doing in the invasion. "You have been selected for a special mission," he says, speaking cautiously as if fearing our reaction. "We have numerous sharpshooters, but rather a dearth of camera crews. Therefore, we've handpicked the eight of you to be what we call our 'Star Squad.' You will be the on-screen faces of the invasion."

Meaning we will be as far away from actual combat as Plutarch can get us. Annie will be pleased, although I can't say the same for my team. Gale is red in the face as he snaps, "What you're saying is, we won't be in actual combat."

"You will be in combat," Plutarch swears. "But perhaps not always on the front line. If one can even isolate a front line in this type of war."

"None of us wants that," I tell him. "We're going to fight." I don't know why I bothered to say anything – Plutarch clearly has his mind made up already.

"Don't worry," Plutarch assures us. "You'll have plenty of real targets to hit. But don't get blown up. I've got enough on my plate without having to replace you. Now get to the Capitol and put on a good show."

We leave the next day. The night before, I pull Annie into my arms, kiss her, and tell her that I'm headed out in the morning. She loses it, retreating inwards to her happy place as her body shakes and spasms. I hold on tightly, murmuring soothing words, doing my best to stop the tears from tracing down my cheeks. The last thing in the world I ever wanted to do was cause Annie this kind of pain, and somehow I'm doing it anyway.

Our lovemaking is unusually fierce that night, almost as if Annie is trying to wordlessly convince me to stay. But when we lie encircled in each other's arms, drifting off into sleep, her silent tears drip onto my chest. In that moment I almost give it all up, kiss her and tell her that I'll never leave her, but I can't do it. Not while Blake, Mara, and Mags' murders go unavenged. Not while Johanna lies shaking in a hospital bed, a steady morphling drip the only thing keeping her clinging to her sanity. I know in that instant that I can never give it up, not until Snow is dead.

As I head out the door the next morning, Annie throws her arms around me and starts to sob hysterically, begging me not to go. "This isn't the Hunger Games!" she shrieks, beating my chest with her fists. "You don't have to go! No one is making you go!"

What else can I do but hug her tightly and wait for her fury to run its course? When she finally falls silent, taking deep, gasping breaths to recover from her tirade, I kiss her and tell her for the tenth time why I have to go. I don't think she'll understand it anymore now than she has in the past, but I have to try. Finally she lets me go and gazes up at me, sea-green eyes so wide, glazed with unshed tears, that I can actually feel my heart breaking. "Stay," she whispers.

"I'm going to come back to you," I tell her, and then wrap my arms around her. I crush her tightly to me, lifting her up off her toes as I kiss her with all the passion I possess. She melts against me, and for a moment time stops, and there is nothing but me, and Annie, our lips, and our love. Then I release her and walk away, not daring to look back. I can hear her crying as I walk down the corridor, her sobs echoing off the dreary concrete walls.

The train ride is cramped and long. I keep myself amused by chatting with the other soldiers in the car and taunting Gale. He's not a bad guy, he's just really quick to anger, and therefore incredibly easy to torment. Although I have to wonder if he's reacting so dramatically just to break up the monotony of the endless train ride. Katniss, meanwhile, sits in the corner and barely says a word the entire trip.

When we arrive on the outskirts of Capitol, our squad – 451 – is assigned a patch of bare ground to pitch our tents. To the north, the empty streets of Capitol stretch invitingly, the candy-colored lines of buildings like giant arms waiting to hug us. I don't think I've ever seen a deadlier embrace.

Hoverplane bombing isn't an issue, as almost all the hoverplanes have been destroyed during the course of the rebellion. If Snow has any hovercrafts left, he's saving them for his own evacuation, should the fighting turn against him. That means that our invasion of Capitol is going to be on foot. At one point Gale suggests just dropping a nuke on the damned city and having done with it, but Boggs reminds us that command wants the city kept as intact as possible. To be honest, I kind of agree with Gale. I'd like to see Snow outrun a nuke.

For the first three days, we don't do much except get filmed whilst shooting stuff. We don't accomplish any actual objectives – the point here is to get footage for the propos to show that the heroes are still fighting, and then intersperse that with scenes of actual targets being destroyed. Gale spends most of the time seething silently at being sidelined, I roll with the punches, and Katniss stares at Boggs and his holographic tablet map of Capitol like it's going out of style. There's no doubt in my mind that she intends to steal the map and take off on her own to go kill Snow, it's just a matter of when. I hope she thinks to bring me along for the ride.

On the fourth day, one of the Leegs shoots a pod on the street we're "attacking". According to Boggs' holo, this pod is supposed to contain muttation gnats, but it's mislabeled – instead, it shoots out a spray of metal darts. Leeg dies before the medics can even get to her. It's a sobering reminder that, even stuck on the fringes of the fighting as we are, we're still in a war zone.

Our replacement member arrives at dusk. Coin has decided that Peeta Mellark is now mentally fit enough to join our little fighting squadron. His guards and manacles are gone, he's got a loaded gun in his hand, and Katniss looks as if she's about to keel over from shock. Peeta tells us that President Coin herself assigned him to our squad. Peeta, who tried to choke the life out of Katniss. Peeta who, up until a few weeks ago, was convinced she was a mutt. I wonder if Coin is deliberately trying to get Katniss killed. It's a scary notion, but is there any other reasonable explanation for him being here like this?

Peeta's arrival is tough on all of us. Boggs sets up a round the clock guard on Peeta and takes away his gun. Peeta accepts it stoically enough - I think he was expecting this kind of treatment. Possibly he was against this whole idea as much as we are now.

Katniss is a complete mess. Oh, not in the sense that she's always crying or having temper tantrums, but that she's retreated completely into herself. She insists on taking one of Peeta's guard shifts, as if to prove to us that she isn't affected by his presence. Some of the others start to talk about her behind her back, and I can't say I disagree with them. They're upset with Katniss, saying that if her and Peeta's situations were reversed, Peeta would never have given up on her so completely as she's given up on him. A few times I have to tell them to shut their mouths. I may agree with what they're saying, but I can't stand them back-talking a teammate like that. Katniss will work it out eventually, she just needs some time, and possibly a hard shove in the right direction.

One night I'm on guard duty with Leeg – the one whose sister just died – and she is quite clearly both physically and emotionally exhausted by what's happened. I tell her to get some sleep, that I can handle the watch on my own. She protests, so I flash her my seductive grin, say, "Trust me, beautiful, I can handle anything," and go on to brag about my undefeated combat record, extensive hand-to-hand combat training, and my masculine prowess in general until she gives up and climbs into her bedroll.

"Couldn't wait to get me alone?" Peeta quips, although his voice is flat and dull.

I know that Katniss can't stand being around him, because all she can see when she looks at him is the boy she lost, but I actually don't mind his company. It's sort of uplifting, in a way, to see him now, to see how far he's recovered since when we first rescued him. I also have this annoying habit of refusing to give up on people, no matter what happens to them. "What can I say?" I shrug, pursing my lips at him. "Tall, blonde, not-so-secretly harboring homicidal tendencies... you're totally my type."

"Is that so." He doesn't sound at all interested. Not that he ever does, unless someone talks about Katniss, in which case he gets that alarmingly predatory glint in his eyes.

"Sure," I say easily. "Remember the blonde woman from the Quarter Quell? Cashmere?"

This at last sparks his interest. "You didn't," he says disbelievingly.

I nod. "Did so. On a couch, under a table, behind a bar in a club, with her brother in the next room..."

Peeta frowns. "I thought Snow forced you to do that stuff."

"This was before that whole man-whore thing started," I explain. "Just a teenage guy being a guy, you know how it is."

From the blank expression on his face, Peeta has absolutely no idea what I'm talking about. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. When would he have had the chance? Between two Hunger Games, having his heart torn out by Katniss, and then getting his mind ripped apart by Snow, it's a miracle he's even still standing. "I'm talking about sex," I elaborate.

Peeta glowers at me. "I know that."

"Just making sure," I say, holding up my hands innocently. I try not to smile, but a smirk must escape me, because Peeta's glare only intensifies.

"Are you going to taunt me, or guard me?" he demands.

"Why can't it be both?" I counter. "That's what friends do, tease each other."

It's a good thing we're sitting down, because I think he might have fallen over otherwise. "We're friends?"

"Well, seeing as I saved your life and all..."

"That was for Katniss' sake."

I give him a friendly punch on the shoulder. "See? Look at you, bringing up Katniss without sounding like you want to disembowel her. I'd call that progress."

But not that much progress, as his hands are starting to shake. Observing this, I frown in thought for a moment, then clap my hands. Reaching behind me, I dig into my bag and pull out the short length of rope that I used to knot and unknot, back before Annie returned to me. I brought it along because, weirdly enough, it reminds me of Annie. "Take this," I say, shoving the rope into Peeta's hands.

"What is it?" he asks suspiciously. "You want me to hang myself?"

"It's too short to make a noose, believe me, I've tried. It was my therapy when I was... mentally unstable. When I needed a distraction from everything, I would focus on the rope, knotting and unknotting, until the problems melted away."

"I barely know how to tie a simple knot," Peeta says in disgust, throwing it back at me.

"Then I'll show you," I retort. Peeta finally shuts up and lets me do as I please. I think I even catch him looking interested a few times.

Katniss and Jackson relieve me around midnight, which I'm grateful for. Helping Peeta is all well and good, but it's also unbelievably exhausting. I never got this tired with Annie, and I'm not sure whether it's because she was never hostile towards me, or if it was because I loved her more than life itself. I'm leaning towards the latter.

As I lay down in my sleeping roll, I hear Katniss and Peeta speaking softly. I don't pay much attention to the words, but I'm pleased to hear that Katniss has taken the edge out of her voice for once. Maybe she's finally figured out – really figured out, I mean – that what happened to Peeta is not his fault.

She says something, which provokes a slightly impassioned speech from Peeta. "Ally," he says. "Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancee. Target. Mutt. Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. I'll add it to the list of words I use to try to figure you out. The problem is, I can't tell what's real anymore, and what's made up."

Well, if that's his major problem, I have a solution for that, don't I? "Then you should ask, Peeta. That's what Annie does," I say.

Peeta, Katniss, and Jackson mull this concept over for a few minutes. Then Peeta begins to ask her questions. Simple questions, granted, but Katniss does her very best to answer them as thoroughly as she can.

I fall into sleep, hopeful that Katniss and Peeta might work things out after all.


	76. Part 6: Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Eleven**

Coin and Plutarch decide that the footage we've been taking isn't exciting enough, so we're sent to an untouched residential block with several active pods. The two active pods are supposedly a spray of bullets and a net trap, the former of which might be at least a little interesting for the viewers back home. We put on heavy protective gear and head out, the camera crew carrying along bags of smoke bombs to use if they feel that things aren't as dramatic as they'd hoped.

Our team is invigorated by the promise of action, inconsequential as it may be to the war effort. We gather around Boggs, and he uses his holo to show us where the bullet and net traps are set up along the street. The plan is mind-numbingly simple – walk down the street, trigger the bullet trap with our weapons, trigger the net trap with a person, cut them out of the net, and then mission accomplished.

The camera crew sets off some smoke bombs to set the scene, and then we're off, crouching away down the road, guns raised, grim looks on our faces, ready for whatever pre-planned horrors we're about to face. I have to fight back the urge to laugh at how serious everyone looks, because then we'd have to start all over again.

Gale sets off the bullet trap, and we duck and cover without incident. Then Cressida, the film director, decides she didn't get enough footage, because she has us re-enact our reactions to the pod going off, one by one. I'm not the only one having trouble stifling my laughter; even Katniss looks like she's on the verge of giggling once or twice. I'd like to think I'm one of the better actors - I fling myself dramatically into an alcove, and Cressida praises me for my "look of pained determination". That's actually because I banged my foot on the edge of the alcove while diving into it, but I'm not about to reveal my secret.

Then Mitchell starts flaring his nostrils in a failed attempt to appear desperate, and we all lose it. Boggs, suppressing a smile, has to shout, "Pull it together, 451!" before we can even return to some semblance of order.

And then Boggs takes a step backwards and triggers a bomb that blows his legs off.

My instincts honed from the Quarter Quell have me immediately seeking out Katniss to make sure she's alright. She's fine, and is already crouched down beside Boggs, helping Homes assess the damage. By the amount of blood pooling under him, I can't say it looks good.

I spot Messalla, one of the camera men, slumped against a nearby wall. Figuring he must have gotten blasted by the explosion, I hurry over to make sure he's alright. The rest of the squad forms a protective perimeter. I get Messalla onto his feet, and am just re-arranging my gun in my hands when I hear Jackson give the order to retreat.

Turning towards the direction that we came from, I see that some bizarre, oily material has started spouting out of the street, forming a looming black wall that there is quite obviously no way through. "Retreat is not an option!" I shout at Jackson, who curses loudly.

Then everything goes to hell. Gale and the remaining Leeg sister start tearing up the concrete with their guns, trying to trigger any more hidden mines with their bullets. I don't know if it's the gunfire that does it, but Peeta suddenly goes berserk, lunging at Katniss with the butt of his rifle, intent on smashing in her skull. Mitchell tries to stop Peeta, but the blonde boy is strong, and he knocks Mitchell back into the net trap pod. Which shouldn't have been a problem, except that the holo failed to mention that the net would be covered in spikes. Mitchell dies screaming.

I'm about to go help take out Peeta when I notice that not only has Messalla fainted again, the wall of black is now rushing towards us like a giant wave. I shout at the others to get inside the building behind us, and Gale must hear me, because he shoots the lock off one of the doors. We retreat into the building, Peeta wriggling in the tight grips of Castor and Pollux – twins who are part of the camera crew – Katniss supporting a moaning Boggs, and me carrying Messalla.

Once we're all inside the building, we lean against the walls, recovering our breath, while Katniss talks to a quickly fading Boggs. He presses the holo into her hands, mutters something, then takes his last breath.

"What?" Katniss says, staring at Boggs in complete confusion. "Boggs? Boggs?"

"He's gone?" I ask. Katniss nods. "We need to get out of here. Now. We just set off a streetful of pods. You can bet they've got us on surveillance tapes." That last thing I want is a squad of Peacekeepers storming in on us when we're in such a sorry state.

Jackson agrees, and tells Katniss to give her the holo so that she can see us safely back to camp. Katniss refuses, claiming that Boggs put her in charge right before he died. Katniss then says that she's on a special mission to assassinate Snow, given to her directly by President Coin herself. Do I believe this? Not for a second, and neither does half the squad. They turn their guns on Katniss, while the other half aim at Jackson. My own gun is trained on Jackson. I'll trust Katniss over Jackson any day, regardless of whether or not she might at the moment be lying through her teeth.

Finally Cressida, the film director, speaks up. "It's true," she says, gesturing at Katniss. "That's why we're here. Plutarch wants it televised. He thinks if we can film the Mockingjay assassinating Snow, it will end the war."

Another lie, of course, but it does the trick. Everyone lowers their guns, no one entirely sure how we just went from filming a simple propo to assassinating the President of Panem. Regardless, assassins we are, so now it's just a matter of figuring out what to do next. We elect to take Peeta, despite the obvious drawbacks, because Cressida claims he has knowledge of Snow's personal quarters. Luckily he's calmed down since his latest murder attempt, and seems to genuinely regret his actions as we clamp manacles around his wrists.

"Lead on, Soldier Everdeen," I finally say, and we don our gas masks and head back out into the street.

The street outside is covered entirely in black goo. It's like a giant accidentally dropped his bucket of black tar onto a miniature town. We squelch our way through the goo in the direction of Capitol, keeping our eyes out for any pods lying in wait for us.

"I don't like this," Katniss murmurs, after we pass the third block without triggering any pods. "What happened to all the pods?"

"I wonder if the black wave didn't trigger them all?" I muse, pointing at a space up the road that's peppered with tracker jacker corpses, half sunk into the black goo.

About five blocks in, Katniss gives the order to retreat into one of the buildings to regroup and form a plan. We know that both sides are likely out looking for us by now, and I doubt that Katniss wants to run into either one.

We're barely inside the building when a loud explosion rocks the air. "It wasn't close," Jackson says. "A good four or five blocks away." So, the last place we were seen, then. It seems that Snow is stepping up his game. He must really not want us to succeed, if he's blowing up buildings without even checking that we're in them.

The building we're in turns out to be an apartment, so we break into one of the flats and make camp in the living room. The television flickers on a few minutes after we've settled in, broadcasting an emergency program to the Capitol citizenry. At first, the solemn reporter warns that dangerous rebels are attempting to infiltrate the Capitol, and that anyone who spots them should inform the Peacekeepers immediately. Then the screen cuts to a scene of the destroyed building we were previously hiding in, and a different reporter tells us to disregard the previous warning, as there were no survivors. Our entire squad is declared dead.

Dead. Well, at least no one will be coming after us for a while. "Finally, a bit of luck," Homes says, echoing my thoughts.

The next few hours... they're just painful. First Peeta gets it into his head that we need to kill him, and it takes all of us to talk him out of it. Then we eat a bland dinner of old canned food salvaged from the pantry of the apartment. Snow gives a televised speech about how the rebellion is over with Katniss' death, only for Coin to hijack the channel and announce that our martyred Mockingjay would want us to continue the fight.

I know I should be more interested in all this political maneuvering and suicide attempting, but honestly, all I can think about is Annie and how much I miss holding her in my arms. I wonder if she was watching that broadcast, if she now thinks I'm dead. Hopefully Beetee or Haymitch had the sense to keep her away from any television sets.

I won't deny that I'm thrilled at this chance to kill Snow, but I can't help also feeling like things are rapidly spiraling out of control. We have no back up, no support save that which we take with us. Katniss seems to be making this up as she goes, and should she decide wrong, we might all end up paying the price for it. Still, what else can we do but push onwards? With both sides thinking we're dead, this might be the best chance we'll ever get.

After a brief rest, we decide to head down into the sewer system. There's too much chance of being spotted up on the street, and it's not like we can hop across the roofs of the buildings. We spend a few minutes fixing up the apartment so that it looks like we weren't there – flipping blood-stained cushions, hiding our used food cans, etc. – and then we descend into the underground of Capitol. We know we have to hurry, because our "death" will only last until Snow gets the building we were supposedly crushed in dug up. Once they can't find our bodies, they'll put two and two together, and the manhunt will start. I imagine we'll have hours, at the most.

Pollux – one of the camera twins – leads the way. He's an avox – a Capitol slave who had his tongue cut out for some crime – and he spent five years working in the sewers. His knowledge of the sewer system is invaluable, and we progress ten times farther with his help than we would have if we'd had to rely solely on Katniss' holo map.

We make great time, and after a few hours Katniss calls for a halt. We find a dry space to spread out and get some rest. Cressida and her camera crew are particularly grateful for this rest, as they aren't exactly soldiers trained to survive in harsh conditions.

It feels like I've barely fallen asleep when I'm awoken by a weird hissing noise, like dozens of voices saying something, but too indistinct to make out. The rest of the squad rises around me, and we clutch our weapons tightly as we try to locate the source of the strange sound. Then Peeta starts to hiss along with whatever is making the sound, and we realize what they're saying – "Katniss".

Peeta sounds like he's possessed. I see Gale fingering the trigger of his gun, and know exactly what he's thinking – are we finally going to have to kill him? Has he completely lost it? Katniss must feel similarly, because she trains an arrow on his head. But Peeta actually sounds like himself when he suddenly shouts, "Katniss, get out of here!"

Katniss falters, letting the tip of her arrow drop slightly. "Why? What's making that sound?"

"I don't know," Peeta says. "Only that it has to kill you. Run! Get out! Go!"

This sounds like a pretty convincing argument to me, and Katniss agrees. At her suggestion, I hand my extra guns to the camera crew, since I'll still have one plus my trident to protect me, while they have nothing. We pack up our things lightning quick, but the hissing has still grown alarmingly louder by the time we get underway.

Since our mystery hunters are quite distinctly hissing Katniss' name, we go ahead and assume that they are muttations of some sort. But as muttations can look like anything from snakes to bears, it's impossible to guess what might be coming after us. We move as quickly as we can through the sewers, but the hissing only gets louder. We aren't moving fast enough, and we all know it. But what is there to do but keep going?


	77. Part 6: Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Twelve**

A new sound – human screams – is suddenly added to the cacophony. The muttations have found some avoxes working in the sewers, and are having a tasty snack before the main course. Katniss, true to form, balks at the thought of all these people dying because of her. "Let me go on alone. Lead them off. I'll transfer the holo to Jackson. The rest of you can finish the mission."

Does she ever get tired of playing the tragic martyr? Apparently not. "No one's going to agree to that!" Jackson snaps, and I chime in, "We're wasting time!"

We set off at a run, and the hissing gets louder. The air is also filled with the sickly sweet scent of Snow's prized roses. Katniss gags at the stench, and I nearly join her, although no one else reacts. They don't know Snow like Katniss and I do. He's pulling out all the stops, tormenting Katniss mentally so that she'll be just that much slower to react when his monstrous children surge out of the darkness to rip her apart.

The narrow sewers widen out into the Transfer, basically a large road built under the city for service vehicles, so they can avoid the commercial traffic above. Katniss, holo in hand, scans the area and announces that there are pods scattered everywhere. You could never tell from the perfectly smooth tiled expanse, but we are quite literally running into a death trap.

Katniss sprints ahead, using the holo to locate the pods. She uses an explosive arrow to take out a pod filled with flesh-eating rats, but as she hurries on, I hear a scream from behind me. Messalla is trapped in a golden beam, frozen still like a statue. Gale fires one arrow at the column of light, and another, but they bounce off ineffectually. Katniss notices none of this, so I shout at her, "Katniss!"

She turns around just in time to watch as the flesh melts off Messalla's body. We all just stand there in shock, none of us having ever witnessed anything so utterly horrific.

Peeta is the one to snap us out of it. "Can't help him! Can't!"

We burst into action, following Katniss as she leads us through the minefield of pods. "Don't step there!" she shouts, pointing at an innocent-looking section of the floor. "It's labeled Meat Grinder!"

Well, that doesn't sound pleasant. We try to get around the Meat Grinder, whatever the hell it is, but there's no way we can see. Then we hear gunfire, and turn to see a squad of Peacekeepers bearing down on us. Exactly at what point did we so hopelessly lose control of the situation? Probably the same time that we decided to try and sneak off to assassinate Snow. It seems we're about to pay for our hubris.

"Take them out!" I shout, turning and letting loose a barrage of gunfire from the single gun I have remaining. The others follow suit, cutting down the Peacekeepers as they charge toward us.

But the smell of roses is suddenly overpowering, and something – rather, multiple somethings – hit the Peacekeepers from behind, dragging them to the ground as they scream their death cries. "The mutts!" I yell.

Snow's latest muttations have finally arrived to the party, and they are truly horrific, a nightmarish combination of human and lizard. They are the palest of white, but their scales are already flecked with the red blood of the people they've killed so far. The lack of spiky protrusions or scythe-like claws makes me conclude that their teeth are probably deadly enough to compensate. And sure enough, they bite through the Peacekeepers' armor like it's paper.

Katniss darts forward, shouting, "This way!" She hugs the wall, and it turns out that if we stay close enough to the wall, we can avoid triggering the Meat Grinder. Once everyone has made it past the Grinder, Katniss fires an arrow into the center of the inconspicuous tiles. Massive wheels of rotating mechanical teeth chew up through the ground, forming an impassable barrier between us and the mutts. But I get the feeling these particular mutts aren't going to let a few mechanical teeth stop them from getting to Katniss.

Katniss grabs Pollux's arm and says, "Forget the mission. What's the quickest way above ground?"

Pollux is an avox, of course, so he can't answer her. Instead, he leads us to a door a few meters away. He goes in first, Katniss after him, and then one teammate after another until it's only me, Jackson, Homes, and Leeg remaining in the massive Transfer room. The Grinder crunches ominously behind us as we stare at each other, and we can hear the mutts hissing "Katniss".

"No way the Grinder will stop those mutts," I begin.

"You two go," Jackson says to me and Homes. "Leeg and I will hold them off."

Leeg has a look of grim determination on her tear-streaked face. Homes and I exchange exasperated looks. As if we would actually leave two women to die while we ran off with our tails between our legs. "Don't be stupid," I say. "Homes and I can handle it. Get out of here." Homes nods in agreement.

It's Leeg and Jackson's turn to glance at each other. Then their guns are pointed at our heads. "Move, Odair," Jackson snaps. "That's an order."

There's no more time for second guessing. Homes and I go through the doorway, pulling it firmly closed behind us.

Homes and I crawl through a tight sewer pipe, and emerge on a shallow ledge that runs along the side of the main sewer line. A river of garbage, waste, and chemicals flows beneath us, parts of it on fire, parts emitting clouds of vapor that look so poisonous I imagine one breath would be enough to do you in. Katniss and the others have already crossed a narrow bridge to the other side, so Homes and I follow their example.

Pollux smacks a ladder attached to the wall, indicating our exit point. This makes Katniss look up, and it's at this point that she notices we're down a few team members. "Wait!" she snaps. "Where are Jackson and Leeg One?"

"They stayed at the Grinder to hold the mutts back," Homes says. Katniss shouts, "What?" and makes for the bridge, but Homes grabs her and stops her. "Don't waste their lives, Katniss," he admonishes. "It's too late for them. Look!"

Over at the sewage pipe we crawled through, the mutts are emerging, still hissing Katniss' name and smelling like Snow's roses and essentially doing their damnedest to turn Katniss into a basket case.

"Stand back!" Gale hollers, loosing an explosive arrow at the bridge. It blasts through the metal, and the bridge sinks down into the quagmire below.

For a minute I think we're safe... and then the mutts jump into the sewage. Everyone opens fire, but for every one we take down, two more pour out of the tunnel. And these mutts are _tough_. One takes two dozen bullets and keeps coming. I realize pretty quickly that our only real option is escape.

The ladder out of this stinking hell hole is our only option. "The ladder!" I shout at my teammates. "Get out of here! Go!"

Pollux is the first up the ladder. Katniss is standing by the ladder, but she's so busy taking out the mutts that she completely misses my call to retreat. "Katniss!" I shout at her, while simultaneously knocking a mutt about to reach me back into the sewage with my trident. "Katniss! Get up the... oh, for the love of..."

I sink my trident into another mutt, then pull it out with a squelching noise and dodge through my companions towards Katniss. When I reach her, I grab her around the waist and haul her up in the air. She kicks and squirms as I shove her against the ladder, holding her there until she grabs the rungs. "Climb!" I bellow at her, and after what feels like an eternity, she finally starts to ascend the ladder.

I look around to see who's still alive. Pollux and Katniss are up the ladder. Cressida is hurrying towards me. Peeta and Gale are valiantly holding back the onslaught, but we're running out of time. Are there truly only six of us left? "Go!" I say to Cressida when she runs up to me, panting. I help her up the first few rungs, and then she's out of sight. "Peeta!" I shout, grabbing the kid's collar so he pays attention. I point at the ladder. He nods and starts to climb.

Now it's just Gale and I left. The river of sewage is stained red with blood, and dozens of mutt corpses float off on the slow current. Still more are coming out of the pipe, though, and it's all Gale and I can do to hold them back.

I glance at Gale. Young, strong, determined. Too young to die, before he's experienced all that life has to offer. And then his face is replaced by Annie's. She smiles at me sadly, knowing what I'm about to do. "I'm sorry," I mouth silently.

"You go!" I roar at Gale. "I'll hold them off!"

Gale spares a moment to throw me a poisonous look. "Like hell you will!"

There's no time to argue. "You really want to leave _Peeta _to keep Katniss alive?"

He scowls.

"I didn't think so," I snap. "You got any more explosive arrows?"

"Three."

I stab at a mutt. It rears back, away from the prongs of my trident, and splashes down into the sewage. Then I look up. The ladder leads up to a narrow metal platform, where another ladder goes up to another platform, and then again up to a third platform. I can just make out the square of light at the top, where Pollux must have opened a grate to climb out.

"Use them," I shout. "Make a wall. We can use the time while they're recovering from the blasts to climb. Oh, and you're going first."

Gale somehow manages to glare at me while at the same time putting an arrow through a mutt's neck. "I told you, Odair, I'm not—"

"Just shut up and fire the effing arrows!" I scream at him.

Gale shuts up and fires the effing arrows. He aims them for mutts scrambling up the wall towards us, and the resulting explosions succeed in either killing or knocking back the mutts. Even so, we have maybe twenty seconds before they regroup and come after us again. I turn towards Gale, expecting that I'll have to shove him up the ladder like I did to Katniss, but he's already halfway up the ladder. Mouthing a silent "thank you" to whatever divine power that might overhear, I hurry after him.

He's a quick climber, faster than me, but I've got the muscular endurance to keep up. We've just reached the third and last platform, with only one ladder left to climb, when I hear the hisses of "Katniss" mere feet below me. I get a few rungs up the ladder, and then teeth close around my ankle.

So this is it. How I'm going to die. Even as I turn and drive my trident downwards, dislodging the mutt from my leg, I know it's hopeless. Someone is shining a light down from above, and I can see the ladders swarming with mutts. If only they didn't climb so fast...

I glance up, see Gale reach the exit hatch. You can thank me later, Katniss, I think. I wonder if I'll be able to talk to other people, in the afterlife. If so, I'll have a few choice words for Gale, when he eventually joins me there. Snow as well. And Coin. And Katniss, for that matter. But I'll also get to see Annie again. Suddenly, dying doesn't seem quite so bad.

A mutt closes its fangs on my leg, trying to tug me downward. Then another leaps up, sinking its teeth into my thigh. A third snags my sleeve, and together they pull at me, dragging me towards my doom.

Then the most peculiar thing happens. It's like everything suddenly goes into slow motion. I feel claws raking my back, and then jaws tighten in my hair, pulling my head back. As my eyes move up, I suddenly meet Katniss' gaze, and for the briefest of moments, it's like I'm in her head, our minds melding into one. I see a little girl kneeling in the dirt, hugging a dirty, bedraggled goat. A much younger Peeta, handing her a burnt loaf of bread. Gale, kissing her in the forest. Peeta, holding her tightly as they sleep in each others' arms.

My view of Katniss is suddenly replaced with the hideous face of a mutt. Its teeth are bared, and it rears back to deliver the death bite. And in those brief milliseconds I have before my demise, I let go of the ladder, grip Beetee's special trident tightly in my hands, and twist.


	78. Part 6: Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Chapter Thirteen**

I don't remember much of the next few hours. Or the next few days. Weeks? Months? I know that there was pain. Not sprained ankle pain, but mind-shattering, torturous agony, like someone broke every single bone in my body, flayed me alive, and then dunked me in a tank of salt-water for good measure.

There are brief flashes that I can recall. A woman's voice, vaguely familiar, and a man saying, "He won't make it". I can only assume they're referring to me. This mystery couple must have taken me out of the sewers at some point, because when I finally crack open my eyelids, I'm in a tiny white room that is blessedly devoid of sewage.

"He's awake," I hear a woman gasp, and then there's a rush of footsteps as someone hurries into the room. I'm staring straight up at the ceiling, so I don't know who it is until a fuzzy face hovers over mine.

I have to blink a few times to get my vision to clear. And when I recognize the face above mine, I'm so shocked that I nearly sink back into the coma I just came out of.

"I was so afraid you wouldn't pull through," Hortensia Flavius says, forehead creasing at the undoubtedly traumatic thought. Hortensia Flavius, one of my more frequent Capitol customers. The woman who told me all of Snow's deepest, darkest secrets. The woman whose own secrets I revealed to the entirety of Panem.

"H-how?" I rasp through cracked lips.

"This is my sister's husband, Terrence," Hortensia says, glancing towards someone I can't see. But I don't need to look at Terrence Callicus to know him. The Capitol gossip mill was all over him a few years back, a talented doctor who got a little too enthusiastic about human corpses – the rumors hinted at necrophilia – and had his medical license revoked.

"He ended up as a sewer maintenance director," Hortensia explains. "When I saw on the television that you were in Capitol, I asked him to keep an eye out, just in case." She looks away, blushing. "I know it's terribly unpatriotic of me, darling, but I just couldn't abide the thought of something happening to you!" Hortensia moves towards me, as if she's about to smother me with kisses, but then checks herself.

According to Hortensia, her brother-in-law heard the avoxes screaming, followed the trail of corpses, found my broken, bleeding body... but how did I even make it to that point alive? Terrence's voice comes from my left side, and I feel him fiddling with the IV attached to my arm. "You were in a sorry state when I found you," he says. "That trident of yours was pulsing, and it was projecting some sort of paper-thin force field, hovering millimeters over your skin." I hear him give a scoff of disbelief. "Never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it. Whoever made that weapon of yours is a genius."

Beetee, I think. Yes, he certainly is that.

"There were muttation corpses everywhere," Terrence continues. "Looked like they were blown apart by some sort of bomb. Once I got the force field deactivated, I was sure it was the explosion that did so much damage to you, but I think it was the force field itself. They aren't meant to be in such close proximity to humans – you're lucky your skin didn't melt right off you."

"W-where..." I gasp.

"My sister's home," Hortensia says. "Terrence has a laboratory that can double as a clinic in a pinch."

Luckily, she figures out my next question before I have to force out the "Why".

"Capitol fell months ago," Hortensia says, her voice strained. "Once the rebels showed up, we had a feeling it was over, of course, but then Snow murdered those poor children and things went crazy. All the Capitol residents were herded back to their homes, put under house arrest..."

The story they tell me is... well, I would never have believed it, except that I know Hortensia, and she isn't cunning enough to spin such an elaborate lie. Rebel forces made it to City Circle, where Capitol children had been rounded up behind a protective barricade. Then Snow sent down silver parachutes to the children... and half of them exploded. Killing off dozens upon dozens of Capitol children. When the rebel medics ran in to help, the other half exploded.

Seeing the slaughter of their children by their own leaders, the people of Capitol surrendered. The rebels arrested Snow and his government, while Coin took over control of Panem. But when ex-President Snow was trotted out to be shot by Katniss – whose survival streak, apparently, is still going strong – Katniss changed her aim and killed President Coin instead.

Hortensia relays a number of theories about why Katniss did this. The most popular is that she did it as revenge for her sister Prim, who was one of the medics killed in the parachute explosion. Apparently there are rumors that it wasn't Snow who sent the parachutes, but President Coin herself. A cunning move if she did it, considering she got Capitol to surrender, although I bet she didn't count on Katniss sticking an arrow through her throat.

President Snow died around the same time Coin did – Terrence thinks that all the poison in his vile little body finally caught up to him, although there are rumors that he actually choked to death from laughing when Katniss shot Coin. Katniss' trial was broadcast for several days, and it somehow, miraculously, ended with her getting off the hook. Her lawyer played up the shell-shocked lunatic angle, although the rumors of Coin's involvement in the parachute bombs probably played a large role in the jury's decision as well. Hortensia claims that Katniss, Haymitch and Peeta are all back in 12 now, trying to return to their old lives.

Terrence doesn't want to tell me my list of injuries, but I can be very persuasive. His words are... well, about as good as can be expected, considering the circumstances. Both legs broken, my left foot ripped off, puncture wounds – and corresponding internal injuries – all through my chest, a chunk of flesh torn out of my arm, my right ear torn off... The good news is that, because I've been in a coma for so long, all these wounds are basically healed. Well, not the foot or the ear, but Terrence is hopeful that we can find prosthetics that should work well enough.

As for the coma, Beetee was right when he said not to use the emergency feature unless it was a case of life or death. The force field did no lasting physical damage, but Terrence says the effects of the electro-magnetic waves on my brain were severe.

"It basically shut down your higher brain functions, put you in a vegetative state," Terrence explains. "A few days after Snow and Coin died, the rebels showed up. When they realized what was going on, that I was the only thing keeping you alive, they went straight to Plutarch Heavensbee. He came here in the dead of night, told his men to move you to a secure location. But you were still recovering, and in a coma, so I convinced him to let me keep you here. He sends over specialists to see you every few days, but I believe he's trying to keep your existence a secret."

So Plutarch knows I'm alive. The thought is comforting. I was worried for a while that I might be trapped in the love-struck clutches of Hortensia Flavius.

"Now that you're awake," Terrence continues, "Heavensbee will want you moved to a proper medical facility." He glances at the door, through which Hortensia left earlier. "My sister-in-law will be heartbroken that you're leaving. She saved your life, you know."

I'm very aware of this fact. If not for the love – misguided as it is – that Hortensia bears for me, I wouldn't be alive today. When Plutarch's men show up in an ambulance to escort me to a more secure location, I let them roll my gurney into the van, then ask them to get Hortensia. She climbs up into the van a moment later, weeping copiously.

By this time, it's been a few days since I woke up, and I'm able to speak again, although anything too complex tires me out. "Hortensia," I croak, voice still hurting from the disuse.

"Even like this, you're beautiful," she sobs, burying her face into a handkerchief.

Any distaste I may have felt for a woman as shallow as Hortensia evaporated when she selflessly saved me. "Thank you," I rasp. "For everything."

"Finnick!" she wails, clutching my hand. "I love you, my angel, my darling, my dream, don't leave me like this!"

"I have a wife," I remind her.

"Can't we share you?" she pleads.

"I don't think she would approve of that," I say, and even manage a semblance of my old, cocky grin.

Hortensia continues to sniffle, but makes an obvious effort to pull herself together. "I could never have lived with myself, knowing that I let you die when I could have stopped it," she says, and for a moment I see behind the facade to the real her. Underneath all the hysterics and makeup, she's truly beautiful. She squeezes my hand. "Take care, my love."

"Only if you do the same," I reply.

She gasps and runs out of the van so that I can't see her crying again.

I feel like I'm in that ambulance for days. We must be leaving Capitol entirely, because I can't imagine anything else taking this long. When Plutarch's men open up the van doors and wheel me out, I see that we're in the countryside.

They bring me into a low, brown building that's obviously a medical facility of some sort. Probably some sort of experimental lab, if I had to guess, since there's no other reason for such a facility to exist so far from Capitol. I'm wheeled into a spacious room about six times the size of my one at Hortensia's.

Plutarch arrives the next day. When he sees me, he doesn't know how to react. First his eyes go wide, then he smiles, then he gets all teary-eyed, and then he grows somber. "I never would have believed it," he finally says, coming to sit by my side. "Of all the unexpected miracles..."

"Which part?" I ask. "Me surviving, or me waking up?"

"Both," Plutarch says. "I can't even begin to..."

I cut him off. "How's Annie?"

The smile that flickered so briefly across his face before returns with a vengeance. "She's... oh, Finnick, you don't want me to ruin the surprise, do you?"

"Does she know I'm alive?"

The smile is gone as quickly as it came. "That, erm, no, not exactly," he murmurs. "You died a hero, my boy, and we need all the heroes we can get, quite frankly. The Capitol citizens aren't pleased with our new government, some districts are starting to question the methods used in the war, the media is going mad... do you know that we had to post guards around Katniss, to keep away the photographers and reporters? She has no idea, of course. I can't even imagine her reaction. I told them, your number one priority is keeping the cameras in check, but if Katniss spots you, it will be your head on the platter!" Plutarch chuckles at the memory.

I digest this in silence. Then I say, "So you're saying my wife still thinks I'm dead. For months, you've let her go on thinking I'm gone."

Plutarch clears his throat uncomfortably. "We didn't want to say anything to her, Finnick, not when we didn't know if or when you'd wake up."

"And now that I'm awake?"

He grimaces. "The thing is, my boy, we were hoping to keep your survival something of a... well, a secret."

I stare at him, nonplussed. "For how long?"

"A couple decades, at the least."

What the hell am I supposed to do, hide under a rock for the next twenty years? "That seems impractical," I say, not very politely.

"I'm still working on the details," Plutarch says, possibly trying to reassure me. "You must understand. At the moment, the greatest contribution you can make to Panem is by staying dead."

"I'll stay dead," I tell him, "if you'll tell Annie that I'm alive."

Plutarch agrees, and leaves to make arrangements. I pass the days waiting for Annie by trying to exercise my muscles, sore and weak from lying still for so long. I get the doctors to find me some crutches, and by the time Annie arrives, I'm able to make it all the way around the room without falling over. They can't do anything about my missing ear, but they attach a prosthetic foot to the stump of my leg that, thanks to advanced Capitol technology, works nearly as well as my old one.

When Annie walks into the room, I'm not sure whose reaction is better. My stunned shock, and bewildered mumbling as I take in my very pregnant wife, is a worthy contender. Annie, however, takes the prize when she gives a wordless shriek, then runs across the room and throws herself into my arms. I embrace her, she clings to me, and finally the world feels right again.

After the subsequent fervor of passionate kisses subsides, I press my hand to Annie's stomach in wonder. "How far are you?" I ask.

"Six months," she says. Her eyes are bright, and her smile warms me better than a bonfire on the beach, but I can tell how hard it's been for her. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Plutarch was worried about the baby," I tell her. I can't keep my hands off her - I feel like if I let go, I might never get her back. "He didn't want you to know I was alive, only to have me die in that coma. He was afraid the shock might be too much."

"But now you're awake," Annie says. "You're awake, and you're alive, and we can be a family again."

I look down at her stomach, which my hand is still resting on. "Do you know the gender?"

"It's going to be a boy."

Now we're both staring down, lost in thought. "Have you thought of a name?" I finally ask, breaking the silence.

Annie bites her lip. "I was going to name him after you, when I thought you were... not coming back. But now... I think I'd like to name him Blake."

I pull her against my chest, stroking her hair as I consider the name.

"You don't like it?" she asks.

"It's perfect," I say. I tilt her head up so that I can capture her lips in a soft, gentle kiss, and in that moment I know that everything – the Hunger Games, the rebellion, the fighting, the fear, the worrying, the heartache – was worth it.

**A/N: Stay tuned for the epilogue tomorrow :)**


	79. Epilogue

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

**Epilogue**

I stand at the bow of _Hortensia_, leaning against the railing as I contemplate the endless expanse of sapphire sea before me. Annie insisted on the name, as a tribute to the woman who saved my life. We sent her a picture of us on the ship before we left, although I imagine she'll have to keep it under lock and key – Plutarch told us that he wouldn't release details of our voyage, or even admit to the existence of this ship, until we accomplish our mission.

My last ship, _Gemma_, was fairly impressive as fishing boats went, but _Hortensia _is a proper ship, with two masts, a large engine, three decks, and enough supplies to keep us going for years. Our mission is simple. Panem, the powers-that-be reason, can't be the only human settlement left on the planet. We know for a fact that there are massive land masses to the south, although we have no idea what might be on them. So it's my job to sail down the coast, and just keep following it until I find civilization.

I'm not alone, of course. A ship this large needs a proper crew. There are a dozen sailors with me from District 4, weary men seeking a new life. And then there's my family. Natare and her baby girl, Mara. Annie and our son, Blake.

Nurse Everdeen comes with us as well. She tells Katniss that she's going to open a hospital in District 4, but that's all part of the ruse. This kind woman has lost her husband and her daughter – both daughters, some would argue – to Snow's cruelty, and she wants to get as far away from it all as possible. I'm pleased to have her along, partially because she's my friend, but also because she's as good as having a doctor on board, and I'm worried about what will happen if someone gets sick out on the open sea, with no hovercraft around to evacuate them back to Capitol. Plutarch stocks the ship with all the latest medicines and medical tech, so we're set if anything goes wrong.

I try to convince Johanna to come, but despite her delight that I'm alive, she can't bear the idea of being surrounded by so much water. The last I saw her, she was settling into a little cabin in a forest in District 2. Gale, she admitted, stops by at least once a week for "a cup of tea", although I somehow doubt it's tea they're drinking. Or, indeed, that drinking is quite all they're doing. We have one last naked party, strolling through the thick grove of trees surrounding her cozy new home, and then I hug her and say my goodbyes.

Plutarch also lets me contact Haymitch. His response isn't as jubilant as the others I've experienced. When I dial his phone number and say, "Hello, Haymitch. This is Finnick. I'm alive," his first words are, "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

I offer him a spot on _Hortensia_, but he declines. He wants to stay – needs to stay – with Katniss and Peeta. They're the only family he has left. I suggest they all come with us, but he shoots that down as well. "They need stability," he explains. "Solid ground, a sturdy home, a place to call their own. Not floating off with some pretty boy, likely to end up sailing straight into a hurricane and getting torn to pieces."

I then suggest that he let me speak to Katniss and Peeta, tell them that I'm alive, but Plutarch, who's in the room with me, snatches the phone away. "Do no such thing," he barks into the phone at Haymitch. Then he turns to me. "I've been in close contact with Katniss' therapist," he says. "She's on the road to recovery, she doesn't need a shock like this."

"A happy shock can only help her," I counter.

"Dr. Aurelius vetoed it," Plutarch says with finality. "She has enough trouble trusting the government as it is, how do you think she would react if she found out we'd lied about your death? Besides, the girl can't keep a secret to save her life. She'll find out with the rest of Panem in a few decades. Once we've milked your heroic death for all its worth. Then we can reveal you as the great ambassador of our nation, and you can go down in the history books for a reason that doesn't involve killing people."

I feel a pair of arms wrap around my waist from behind. Looking over my shoulder, I see Annie gazing up at me, a small smile tugging at her lips. Out here, on the open water, it's like she never went into those Hunger Games. Every breath of salty air is soothing for her, every night we spend lying on deck, gazing up at the stars, like a dosage of morphling shot straight into the heart. Behind us, the sounds of men fiddling with the rigging, tightening ropes, swabbing the deck, fill our ears.

"Blake and Mara are playing in the nursery," Annie says softly, moving around me to the front so that she can look at the sea with me. Her arms around me are replaced by mine around her. "I can't believe they're almost a year old. It feels like forever. But at the same time, like no time has passed at all. You know?"

"I know," I agree. Then I squeeze her teasingly. "Ready for a second one? I'm thinking Mags for a girl, maybe name a boy after your father. What do you think?"

Annie scowls up at me. "You try having a baby, see how it feels."

I laugh loudly. "So maybe wait a little longer?"

"I should say so." Annie returns her gaze to the sea, and then suddenly lunges forward, shooting her arm out, pointing to something on the horizon. "There, Finnick! Did you see?"

"See what?" I say, squinting as I try to pick out whatever's gotten her so excited. "Land? We're following the coast, angel, that's not exactly a surprise."

"Not the land," Annie says. "What was _on _the land. I thought I saw a glint of something, like metal or gold!"

It takes me a few seconds to understand the implications of this. Then I'm running towards the crow's nest, shimmying up the rope ladder, climbing up into the basket at the top. I seize the telescope and aim it toward where Annie had pointed. And then I see them. Domes. Golden, glittering domes, nestled amidst a cluster of stone buildings. We aren't alone after all.

Everyone joins us on deck, even the children. I hoist Blake up in my arms to give him a better view as we approach the coastal city. He looks just like me - bronze hair, sea-green eyes - although there's a gentleness to his features that is all Annie. The city isn't large – maybe a few hundred buildings – and none of them are over three stories in height. A glance at the tiny fishing boats swarming around the dock tells me that this society isn't nearly as advanced as our own. Still, it's more than we could have ever hoped for.

As we float nearer, and the small city looms up above us, we start to hear gasps and shouts from its denizens. Almost all of them have tanned skin and thick black hair, quite different from the panorama of colors we have back in Panem. When we get even closer, we can make out their words, although the language is nothing like I've ever heard. A few words sound like they could almost be the Panem language, but the accent is so thick that it's impossible to tell.

Fishing boats clear out of our way as we approach, leaving us the entire dock for ourselves. By the waterfront, donkeys clip clop along pulling rickety wooden carts. The air smells of exotic fruits and freshly-caught fish. When we get close enough, my sailors jump down onto the pier, securing _Hortensia _to the sturdy wooden boardwalk with massive coils of rope.

We've brought along all manner of weaponry, of course, should the people we meet prove to be hostile. But the shouts we hear are friendly, the smiles genuine, and when we lower the plank and I step down onto the deck, a man in lavish clothes and opulent jewelry, who I assume must be their leader, approaches.

His words are indecipherable, but the sentiment behind them is easy for me to understand. Who are you? Where are you from?

"My name is Finnick Odair," I tell him. "I am from Panem, a country to the north."

The chief clearly has no idea what I'm saying, but one of the men with him, a wizened old man in long robes, claps his hands together in comprehension. He says something to the chief, and then steps forward.

"I am Julio, helper of King," he says. The accent is thick, but I can understand him. "Welcome to our city."

"I am Finnick Odair," I repeat. "How is it that you speak our language?"

The old man pulls out a thin tome from his draped sleeve. It says, "A Tale of Two Cities". "Many more like this in library," he says, gesturing towards one of the domed buildings. "We thought old language, dead. But no more."

We are escorted up to the King's personal residence, a glittering palace topped with the largest gilded dome in the city. I take three men with me, leaving the others to guard the women and children back on the ship. I don't anticipate any attacks, but I didn't get this far by being careless.

Inside a massive chamber, we sit on patterned cushions and enjoy a feast that would put the Capitol to shame – slow-roasted lamb in tangy spices, platters of fruits I don't recognize, the sweetest hot chocolate you can imagine, everything mouth-wateringly delicious.

After the meal, I explain to the King's adviser – the one who speaks my language – that I need to contact my own leader and let him know that I arrived safely. I pull out the small data pad that Plutarch gave me to contact him by, and the high-tech object sends the King and his advisers into a flurry of astonished shouts. I get the King's adviser to say a few words of his language into the recorder, to corroborate my story, then give Plutarch a brief summary of the trip and send off the audio file.

I receive Plutarch's response maybe an hour later, halfway through a dessert comprised entirely of chocolate in every consistency, flavor, and shape imaginable. It isn't an audio file like the one I sent, but full video. The King is so taken aback by the moving pictures that he nearly falls off his cushion.

When Plutarch speaks, though, it is in a stunted version of the language my hosts use. It seems that, just as they have ancient books in our language that they've studied, so too do we have books in theirs. I don't know what Plutarch says, but the King looks absolutely delighted. I find out later that Plutarch has named me the official ambassador of Panem, and that he will send boats filled with goods and technology south within the month, to help establish positive relations between our respective nations. If someone had told me ten years ago that I was going to be Panem's first ambassador, I probably would have punched him for having a go at me.

We are set up in a palatial house that is nearly as magnificent as the King's own dwelling. There are dozens of rooms in the place, more than enough for the crew of _Hortensia_, as well as whoever else Plutarch sends to join us. The King stops by often with his adviser, eager to learn about my strange land, language, and customs, and he brings along his children. His Highness and I become fast friends, despite the language barrier, and his older daughters grow as close as sisters with Annie and Natare.

I'm standing with Annie on our private balcony, looking out over our exotic yet welcoming new home, when the first of Plutarch's ships appears on the horizon. It isn't a sailboat like _Hortensia_, but a proper cruiser, with a metal hull and seven decks. The name on the side reads, "Mockingjay". I wonder if Katniss knows. Somehow, I doubt it.

I look at Annie, my beautiful wife. She has adopted the local dress over the last few months, a long, fringed tunic of bright colors and geometric patterns that is cinched tightly at the waist with a wide, gold-thread belt. At her urging, I've started wearing the male equivalent – a skirt of sorts, with the same wide belt and eye-catching fabric. It isn't long enough to hide my gleaming metal foot, but that's fine, as all the people here are fascinated by my prosthetic limb.

"So," I say, putting my hand on Annie's waist and pulling her close. "What do you think? Is this the place where we settle down and grow old together?"

I hear bubbling laughter, and look down. Below our balcony, Blake and Mara splash around in a beautiful marble fountain in the center of a lush garden. The King's youngest grandchildren play with them, and their giggling brings a smile to my face. I've never known true peace, true contentment, until I came to this land, and it continues to astonish me every day.

Annie gazes up at me, and her sea-green eyes meet my own. "What I want," she says, "is to be with you forever."

I gather her up in my arms and kiss her until we're both seeing stars. "Forever, my love," I promise. "Forever."

**A/N: Unbelievably enough, we have finally come to the end of Life Through Sea Green Eyes. I just wanted to thank everyone who reviewed, and in particular I wanted to thank those kind souls who made a point of reviewing every (or nearly every!) chapter that I posted. I won't name names, because I'm afraid I'll miss someone, but I imagine that if you're reading this epilogue, you probably know who you are! I know who you are too, and I appreciate every review you've given, every bit of support and optimism you've sent my way. **

**Every time I open my inbox in the morning and find such glowing praise of my work, it boosts up my self-confidence and makes the coming day look a heck of a lot more promising. I wrote the second half of this while living in South Korea, and though I've fallen in love with the place, let me tell you that there are some days where the whole being-halfway-across-the-world thing can get tough. Writing Life Through Sea Green Eyes was both a way for me to give Finnick the fate he always deserved, as well as an escape from when life got a little too crazy. And your reviews and kind words were an integral part. **

**If you've read the story and never had the chance to review, I urge you to drop me a line now. It may be the last chapter, but I'd still love to know what you thought of the story.**

**A note on story itself. I'm sure that most people reading this were partially drawn to the fic because they hated what happened to Finnick in Mockingjay. If you'll notice, throughout this story I've made a point of conforming precisely to what happened in the books. This was done for a very specific reason. In my mind, Finnick survives. Obviously I know that Suzanne Collins intended him to die, but I like to think she was just playing a joke on us, and that she secretly knows that Finnick is really alive. His death in the book is vague, and I choose to believe that the events of this fic are what really happened – that his association with a genius weapons developer, his determination to return to his wife, and his love of life in general led him to survive. Call me a dreamer, or accuse me of missing the point of the books entirely, but I can't stand it when my favorite characters miss out on their happy endings.**

**Also, if you enjoyed the story and are interested in seeing what else I've written, check out my author page. I've recently entered the scary world of self-publishing, and while my original fiction sadly doesn't feature Finnick, I think you'll get a kick out of it all the same :)**

**So to conclude, thank you so much for sticking this thing through with me! I will miss hearing from you every-ish day, although, let's be honest, I will probably delve into the Hunger Games world again at some point in the future. It's just too brilliant a masterpiece not to. So thanks for everything, and may the odds be ever in your favor!**


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